s fed,
Yet soft in touch, and sweet in view:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde.
Nature herself her shape admires,
The gods are wounded in her sight,
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.

Then muse not, nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosalynde,
Since for her fair[2] there is fairer none,
Nor for her virtues so divine:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde.
Heigh ho, my heart, would God that she were mine!

_Periit, quia deperibat._

[Footnote 1: brightness.]

[Footnote 2: fairness.]

"Believe me," quoth Ganymede, "either the forester is an exquisite
painter, or Rosalynde far above wonder; so it makes me blush to hear
how women should be so excellent, and pages so unperfect."

Rosader beholding her earnestly, answered thus:

"Truly, gentle page, thou hast cause to complain thee wert thou the
substance, but resembling the shadow content thyself; for it is
excellence enough to be like the excellence of nature."

"He hath answered you, Ganymede," quoth Aliena, "it is enough for
pages to wait on beautiful ladies, and not to be beautiful
themselves."

"O mistress," quoth Ganymede, "hold you your peace, for you are
partial. Who knows not, but that all women have desire to tie
sovereignty to their petticoats, and ascribe beauty to themselves,
where, if boys might put on their garments, perhaps they would prove
as comely; if not as comely, it may be more courteous. But tell me,
forester," and with that she turned to Rosader, "under whom
maintainest thou thy walk?"

"Gentle swain, under the king of outlaws," said he, "the unfortunate
Gerismond, who having lost his kingdom, crowneth his thoughts with
content, accounting it better to govern among poor men in peace, than
great men in danger."

"But hast thou not," said she, "having so melancholy opportunities as
this forest affordeth thee, written more sonnets in commendations of
thy mistress?"

"I have, gentle swain," quoth he, "but they be not about me. To-morrow
by dawn of day, if your flocks feed in these pastures, I will bring
them you, wherein you shall read my passions whilst I feel them, judge
my patience when you read it: till when I bid farewell." So giving
both Ganymede and Aliena a gentle good-night, he resorted to his
lodge, leaving Aliena and Ganymede to their prittle-prattle.

"So Ganymede," said Aliena, the forester