triumphing in the glory of this conquest, accompanied with a troop of
young gentlemen that were desirous to be his familiars, went home to
his brother Saladyne's, who was walking before the gates, to hear what
success his brother Rosader should have, assuring himself of his
death, and devising how with dissimuled sorrow to celebrate his
funerals. As he was in his thought, he cast up his eye, and saw where
Rosader returned with the garland on his head, as having won the
prize, accompanied with a crew of boon companions. Grieved at this, he
stepped in and shut the gate. Rosader seeing this, and not looking for
such unkind entertainment, blushed at the disgrace, and yet smothering
his grief with a smile, he turned to the gentlemen, and desired them
to hold his brother excused, for he did not this upon any malicious
intent or niggardize, but being brought up in the country, he absented
himself as not finding his nature fit for such youthful company. Thus
he sought to shadow abuses proffered him by his brother, but in vain,
for he could by no means be suffered to enter: whereupon he ran his
foot against the door, and broke it open, drawing his sword, and
entering boldly into the hall, where he found none, for all were fled,
but one Adam Spencer, an Englishman, who had been an old and trusty
servant to Sir John of Bordeaux. He for the love he bare to his
deceased master, favored the part of Rosader, and gave him and his
such entertainment as he could. Rosader gave him thanks, and looking
about, seeing the hall empty, said:
"Gentlemen, you are welcome; frolic and be merry: you shall be sure to
have wine enough, whatsoever your fare be. I tell you, cavaliers, my
brother hath in his house five tun of wine, and as long as that
lasteth, I beshrew him that spares his liquor."
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,
nor base men tied to any baleful prejudice. Fortune flies, and if she
touch poverty it is with her heel, rather disdaining their want with a
frown, than envying their wealth with disparagement. O Rosalynde,
hadst thou been born low, thou hadst not fallen so high, and yet being
great of blood thine honor is more, if thou brookest misfortune with
patience. Suppose I contrary fortune with content, yet fates unwilling
to have me anyway happy, have forced love to set my thoughts on fire
with fancy. Love, Rosalynde? becometh it women in distress to think of
love? Tush, desire hath no respect of persons: Cupid is blind and
shooteth at random, as soon hitting a rag as a robe, and piercing as
soon the bosom of a captive as the breast of a libertine. Thou
speakest it, poor Rosalynde, by experience; for being every way
distressed, surcharged with cares, and overgrown with sorrows, yet
amidst the heap of all these mishaps, love hath lodged in thy heart
the perfection of young Rosader, a man every way absolute as well for
his inward life, as for his outward lineaments, able to content the
eye with beauty, and the ear with the report of his virtue. But
consider, Rosalynde, his fortunes, and thy present estate: thou art
poor and without patrimony, and yet the daughter of a prince; he a
younger brother, and void of such possessions as either might maintain
thy dignities or revenge thy father's injuries. And hast thou not
learned this of other ladies, that lovers cannot live by looks, that
women's ears are sooner content with a dram of _give me_ than a pound
of _hear me_, that gold is sweeter than eloquence, that love is a fire
and wealth is the fuel, that Venus' coffers should be ever full?
Then, Rosalynde, seeing Rosader is poor, think him less beautiful
because he is in want, and account his virtues but qualities of course
for that he is not endued with wealth. Doth not Horace tell thee what
method is to be used in love?
Quaerenda pecunia primum, post nummos virtus.
Tush, Rosalynde, be not over rash: leap not before thou look: either
love such a one as may with his lands purchase thy liberty, or else
love not at all. Choose not a fair face with an empty purse, but say
as most women use to say:
Si nihil attuleris, ibis Homere foras.
Why, Rosalynde! can such base thoughts harbor in such high beauties?
can the degree of a princess, the daughter of Gerismond harbor such
servile conceits, as to prize gold more than honor, or to measure a
gentleman by his wealth, not by his virtues? No, Rosalynde, blush at
thy base resolution, and say, if thou lovest, 'either Rosader or
none!' And why? because Rosader is both beautiful and virtuous."
Smiling to herself to think of her new-entertained passions, taking up
her lute that lay by her, she warbled out this ditty:
_Rosalynde's Madrigal_
Love in my bosom like a bee
Doth suck his sweet:
Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah, wanton, will ye?
And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee
The livelong night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,
He music plays if so I sing;
He lends me every lovely thing,
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting.
Whist, wanton, still ye!
Else I with roses every day
Will whip you hence,
And bind you, when you long to play,
For your offence;
I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in,
I'll make you fast it for your sin,
I'll count your power not worth a pin.
Alas, what hereby shall I win,
If he gainsay me?
What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,
Because a God.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee.
O Cupid, so thou pity me,
Spare not but play thee.
Scarce had Rosalynde ended her madrigal, before Torismond came in with
his daughter Alinda and many of the peers of France, who were enamored
of her beauty; which Torismond perceiving, fearing lest her perfection
might be the beginning of his prejudice, and the hope of his fruit end
in the beginning of her blossoms, he thought to banish her from the
court: "for," quoth he to himself, "her face is so full of favor, that
it pleads pity in the eye of every man; her beauty is so heavenly and
divine, that she will prove to me as Helen did to Priam; some one of
the peers will aim at her love, end the marriage, and then in his
wife's right attempt the kingdom. To prevent therefore _had I wist_ in
all these actions, she tarries not about the court, but shall (as an
exile) either wander to her father, or else seek other fortunes." In
this humor, with a stern countenance full of wrath, he breathed out
this censure unto her before the peers, that charged her that that
night she were not seen about the court: "for," quoth he, "I have
heard of thy aspiring speeches, and intended treasons." This doom was
strange unto Rosalynde, and presently, covered with the shield of her
innocence, she boldly brake out in reverent terms to have cleared
herself; but Torismond would admit of no reason, nor durst his lords
plead for Rosalynde, although her beauty had made some of them
passionate, seeing the figure of wrath portrayed in his brow. Standing
thus all mute, and Rosalynde amazed, Alinda, who loved her more than
herself, with grief in her heart and tears in her eyes, falling down
on her knees, began to entreat her father thus:
ALINDA'S ORATION TO HER FATHER IN DEFENCE OF FAIR ROSALYNDE
"If, mighty Torismond, I offend in pleading for my friend, let the law
of amity crave pardon for my boldness; for where there is depth of
affection, there friendship alloweth a privilege. Rosalynde and I have
been fostered up from our infancies, and nursed under the harbor of
our conversing together with such private familiarities, that custom
had wrought a union of our nature, and the sympathy of our affections
such a secret love, that we have two bodies and one soul. Then marvel
not, great Torismond, if, seeing my friend distressed, I find myself
perplexed with a thousand sorrows; for her virtuous and honorable
thoughts, which are the glories that maketh women excellent, they be
such as may challenge love, and rase out suspicion. Her obedience to
your majesty I refer to the censure of your own eye, that since her
father's exile hath smothered all griefs with patience, and in the
absence of nature, hath honored you with all duty, as her own father
by nouriture, not in word uttering any discontent, nor in thought, as
far as conjecture may reach, hammering on revenge; only in all her
actions seeking to please you, and to win my favor. Her wisdom,
silence, chastity, and other such rich qualities, I need not decipher;
only it rests for me to conclude in one word, that she is innocent. If
then, fortune, who triumphs in a variety of miseries, hath presented
some envious person (as minister of her intended stratagem) to taint
Rosalynde with any surmise of treason, let him be brought to her face,
and confirm his accusation by witnesses; which proved, let her die,
and Alinda will execute the massacre. If none can avouch any confirmed
relation of her intent, use justice, my lord, it is the glory of a
king, and let her live in your wonted favor; for if you banish her,
myself, as copartner of her hard fortunes, will participate in exile
some part of her extremities."
Torismond, at this speech of Alinda, covered his face with such a
frown, as tyranny seemed to sit triumphant in his forehead, and
checked her up[1] with such taunts, as made the lords, that only were
hearers, to tremble.
[Footnote 1: stopped.]
"Proud girl," quoth he, "hath my looks made thee so light of tongue,
or my favors encouraged thee to be so forward, that thou darest
presume to preach after thy father? Hath not my years more experience
than thy youth, and the winter of mine age deeper insight into civil
policy, than the prime[1] of thy flourishing days? The old lion avoids
the toils, where the young one leaps into the net: the care of age is
provident and foresees much: suspicion is a virtue, where a man holds
his enemy in his bosom. Thou, fond girl, measurest all by present
affection, and as thy heart loves, thy thoughts censure[2]; but if
thou knowest that in liking Rosalynde thou hatchest up a bird to peck
out thine own eyes, thou wouldst entreat as much for her absence as
now thou delightest in her presence. But why do I allege policy to
thee? Sit you down, housewife, and fall to your needle: if idleness
make you so wanton, or liberty so malapert, I can quickly tie you to a
sharper task. And you, maid, this night be packing, either into Arden
to your father, or whither best it shall content your humor, but in
the court you shall not abide."
[Footnote 1: spring.]
[Footnote 2: decide.]
This rigorous reply of Torismond nothing amazed Alinda, for still she
prosecuted her plea in the defence of Rosalynde, wishing her father,
if his censure might not be reversed, that he would appoint her
partner of her exile; which if he refused to do, either she would by
some secret means steal out and follow her, or else end her days with
some desperate kind of death. When Torismond heard his daughter so
resolute, his heart was so hardened against her, that he set down a
definite and peremptory sentence, that they should both be banished,
which presently was done, the tyrant rather choosing to hazard the
loss of his only child than anyways to put in question the state of
his kingdom; so suspicious and fearful is the conscience of an
usurper. Well, although his lords persuaded him to retain his own
daughter, yet his resolution might not be reversed, but both of them
must away from the court without either more company or delay. In he
went with great melancholy, and left these two ladies alone. Rosalynde
waxed very sad, and sate down and wept. Alinda she smiled, and sitting
by her friend began thus to comfort her:
ALINDA'S COMFORT TO PERPLEXED ROSALYNDE
"Why, how now, Rosalynde, dismayed with a frown of contrary fortune?
Have I not oft heard thee say, that high minds were discovered in
fortune's contempt, and heroical scene in the depth of extremities?
Thou wert wont to tell others that complained of distress, that the
sweetest salve for misery was patience, and the only medicine for
want that precious implaister of content. Being such a good physician
to others, wilt thou not minister receipts to thyself? But perchance
thou wilt say:
Consulenti nunquam caput doluit.
Why then, if the patients that are sick of this disease can find in
themselves neither reason to persuade, nor art to cure, yet,
Rosalynde, admit of the counsel of a friend, and apply the salves that
may appease thy passions. If thou grievest that being the daughter of
a prince, and envy thwarteth thee with such hard exigents,[1] think
that royalty is a fair mark, that crowns have crosses when mirth is in
cottages; that the fairer the rose is, the sooner it is bitten with
caterpillars; the more orient[2] the pearl is, the more apt to take a
blemish; and the greatest birth, as it hath most honor, so it hath
much envy. If then fortune aimeth at the fairest, be patient
Rosalynde, for first by thine exile thou goest to thy father: nature
is higher prize than wealth, and the love of one's parents ought to be
more precious than all dignities. Why then doth my Rosalynde grieve at
the frown of Torismond, who by offering her a prejudice proffers her a
greater pleasure? and more, mad lass, to be melancholy, when thou hast
with thee Alinda, a friend who will be a faithful copartner of all thy
misfortunes, who hath left her father to follow thee, and chooseth
rather to brook all extremities than to forsake thy presence. What,
Rosalynde,
Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris.
Cheerly, woman: as we have been bed-fellows in royalty, we will be
fellow-mates in poverty: I will ever be thy Alinda, and thou shalt
ever rest to me Rosalynde; so shall the world canonize our friendship,
and speak of Rosalynde and Alinda, as they did of Pylades and Orestes.
And if ever fortune smile, and we return to our former honor, then
folding ourselves in the sweet of our friendship, we shall merrily
say, calling to mind our forepassed miseries:
Olim haec meminisse juvabit."
[Footnote 1: necessities.]
[Footnote 2: precious; because the most valued gems came from the
Orient.]
At this Rosalynde began to comfort her, and after she had wept a few
kind tears in the bosom of her Alinda, she gave her hearty thanks, and
then they sat them down to consult how they should travel. Alinda
grieved at nothing but that they might have no man in their company,
saying it would be their greatest prejudice in that two women went
wandering without either guide or attendant.
"Tush," quoth Rosalynde, "art thou a woman, and hast not a sudden
shift to prevent a misfortune? I, thou seest, am of a tall stature,
and would very well become the person and apparel of a page; thou
shalt be my mistress, and I will play the man so properly, that, trust
me, in what company soever I come I will not be discovered. I will buy
me a suit, and have my rapier very handsomely at my side, and if any
knave offer wrong, your page will show him the point of his weapon."
At this Alinda smiled, and upon this they agreed, and presently
gathered up all their jewels, which they trussed up[1] in a casket,
and Rosalynde in all haste provided her of robes, and Alinda, from her
royal weeds, put herself in more homelike attire. Thus fitted to the
purpose, away go these two friends, having now changed their names,
Alinda being called Aliena, and Rosalynde Ganymede. They travelled
along the vineyards, and by many by-ways at last got to the forest
side, where they travelled by the space of two or three days without
seeing any creature, being often in danger of wild beasts, and pained
with many passionate sorrows. Now the black ox[2] began to tread on
their feet, and Alinda thought of her wonted royalty; but when she
cast her eyes on her Rosalynde, she thought every danger a step to
honor. Passing thus on along, about midday they came to a fountain,
compassed with a grove of cypress trees, so cunningly and curiously
planted, as if some goddess had entreated nature in that place to make
her an arbor. By this fountain sat Aliena and her Ganymede, and forth
they pulled such victuals as they had, and fed as merrily as if they
had been in Paris with all the king's delicates, Aliena only grieving
that they could not so much as meet with a shepherd to discourse them
the way to some place where they might make their abode. At last
Ganymede casting up his eye espied where on a tree was engraven
certain verses; which as soon as he espied, he cried out:
"Be of good cheer, mistress, I spy the figures of men; for here in
these trees be engraven certain verses of shepherds, or some other
swains that inhabit hereabout."
[Footnote 1: packed.]
[Footnote 2: ill-luck.]
With that Aliena start up joyful to hear these news, and looked, where
they found carved in the bark of a pine tree this passion:
_Montanus's Passion_
Hadst thou been born whereas perpetual cold
Makes Tanais hard, and mountains silver old;
Had I complained unto a marble stone,
Or to the floods bewrayed my bitter moan,
I then could bear the burthen of my grief.
But even the pride of countries at thy birth,
Whilst heavens did smile, did new array the earth
With flowers chief.
Yet thou, the flower of beauty blessèd born,
Hast pretty looks, but all attired in scorn.
Had I the power to weep sweet Mirrha's tears,
Or by my plaints to pierce repining ears;
Hadst thou the heart to smile at my complaint,
To scorn the woes that doth my heart attaint,
I then could bear the burthen of my grief:
But not my tears, but truth with thee prevails,
And seeming sour my sorrows thee assails:
Yet small relief;
For if thou wilt thou art of marble hard,
And if thou please my suit shall soon be heard.
"No doubt," quoth Aliena, "this poesy is the passion of some perplexed
shepherd, that being enamored of some fair and beautiful shepherdess,
suffered some sharp repulse, and therefore complained of the cruelty
of his mistress."
"You may see," quoth Ganymede, "what mad cattle you women be, whose
hearts sometimes are made of adamant that will touch with no
impression, and sometime of wax that is fit for every form: they
delight to be courted, and then they glory to seem coy, and when they
are most desired then they freeze with disdain: and this fault is so
common to the sex, that you see it painted out in the shepherd's
passions, who found his mistress as froward as he was enamored."
"And I pray you," quoth Aliena, "if your robes were off, what mettle
are you made of that you are so satirical against women? Is it not a
foul bird defiles the own nest? Beware, Ganymede, that Rosader hear
you not, if he do, perchance you will make him leap so far from love,
that he will anger every vein in your heart."
"Thus," quoth Ganymede, "I keep decorum: I speak now as I am Aliena's
page, not as I am Gerismond's daughter; for put me but into a
petticoat, and I will stand in defiance to the uttermost, that women
are courteous, constant, virtuous, and what not."
"Stay there," quoth Aliena, "and no more words, for yonder be
characters graven upon the bark of the tall beech tree."
"Let us see," quoth Ganymede; and with that they read a fancy written
to this effect:
First shall the heavens want starry light,
The seas be robbèd of their waves,
The day want sun, and sun want bright,
The night want shade, the dead men graves,
The April flowers and leaf and tree,
Before I false my faith to thee.
First shall the tops of highest hills
By humble plains be overpried,
And poets scorn the Muses' quills,
And fish forsake the water glide,
And Iris loose her colored weed,[1]
Before I fail thee at thy need.
First direful hate shall turn to peace,
And love relent in deep disdain,
And death his fatal stroke shall cease,
And envy pity every pain,
And pleasure mourn and sorrow smile,
Before I talk of any guile.
First time shall stay his stayless race,
And winter bless his brows with corn,
And snow bemoisten July's face,
And winter spring, and summer mourn,
Before my pen, by help of fame,
Cease to recite thy sacred name.
MONTANUS
[Footnote 1: garment. In what modern expression is this meaning of the
word retained?]
"No doubt," quoth Ganymede, "this protestation grew from one full of
passions."
"I am of that mind too," quoth Aliena, "but see, I pray, when poor
women seek to keep themselves chaste, how men woo them with many
feigned promises; alluring with sweet words as the Sirens, and after
proving as trothless as Aeneas. Thus promised Demophoon to his
Phyllis, but who at last grew more false?"
"The reason was," quoth Ganymede, "that they were women's sons, and
took that fault of their mother, for if man had grown from man, as
Adam did from the earth, men had never been troubled with
inconstancy."
"Leave off," quoth Aliena, "to taunt thus bitterly, or else I'll pull
off your page's apparel, and whip you, as Venus doth her wantons, with
nettles."
"So you will," quoth Ganymede, "persuade me to flattery, and that
needs not: but come, seeing we have found here by this fount the tract
of shepherds by their madrigals and roundelays, let us forward; for
either we shall find some folds, sheepcotes, or else some cottages
wherein for a day or two to rest."
"Content," quoth Aliena, and with that they rose up, and marched
forward till towards the even, and then coming into a fair valley,
compassed with mountains, whereon grew many pleasant shrubs, they
might descry where two flocks of sheep did feed. Then, looking about,
they might perceive where an old shepherd sat, and with him a young
swaine, under a covert most pleasantly situated. The ground where they
sat was diapered with Flora's riches, as if she meant to wrap Tellus
in the glory of her vestments: round about in the form of an
amphitheatre were most curiously planted pine trees, interseamed with
limons and citrons, which with the thickness of their boughs so
shadowed the place, that Phoebus could not pry into the secret of that
arbor; so united were the tops with so thick a closure, that Venus
might there in her jollity have dallied unseen with her dearest
paramour. Fast by, to make the place more gorgeous, was there a fount
so crystalline and clear, that it seemed Diana with her Dryades and
Hamadryades had that spring, as the secret of all their bathings. In
this glorious arbor sat these two shepherds, seeing their sheep feed,
playing on their pipes many pleasant tunes, and from music and melody
falling into much amorous chat. Drawing more nigh we might descry the
countenance of the one to be full of sorrow, his face to be the very
portraiture of discontent, and his eyes full of woes, that living he
seemed to die: we, to hear what these were, stole privily behind the
thicket, where we overheard this discourse: