tained in a volume, Phoebe loves
Ganymede."

At this she held down her head and wept, and Ganymede rose as one that
would suffer no fish to hang on his fingers, made this reply:

"Water not thy plants, Phoebe, for I do pity thy plaints, nor seek not
to discover thy loves in tears, for I conjecture thy truth by thy
passions: sorrow is no salve for loves, nor sighs no remedy for
affection. Therefore frolic, Phoebe; for if Ganymede can cure thee,
doubt not of recovery. Yet this let me say without offence, that it
grieves me to thwart Montanus in his fancies, seeing his desires have
been so resolute, and his thoughts so loyal. But thou allegest that
thou art forced from him by fate: so I tell thee, Phoebe, either some
star or else some destiny fits my mind, rather with Adonis to die in
chase than be counted a wanton in Venus' knee. Although I pity thy
martyrdom, yet I can grant no marriage; for though I held thee fair,
yet mine eye is not fettered: love grows not, like the herb Spattana,
to his perfection in one night, but creeps with the snail, and yet at
last attains to the top. _Festina lente_, especially in love, for
momentary fancies are oft-times the fruits of follies. If, Phoebe, I
should like thee as the Hyperborei do their dates, which banquet with
them in the morning and throw them away at night, my folly should be
great, and thy repentance more. Therefore I will have time to turn my
thoughts, and my loves shall grow up as the watercresses, slowly, but
with a deep root. Thus, Phoebe, thou mayest see I disdain not, though
I desire not; remaining indifferent till time and love makes me
resolute. Therefore, Phoebe, seek not to suppress affection, and with
the love of Montanus quench the remembrance of Ganymede; strive thou
to hate me as I seek to like of thee, and ever have the duties of
Montanus in thy mind, for I promise thee thou mayest have one more
wealthy, but not more loyal." These words were corrosives to the
perplexed Phoebe, but sobbing out sighs, and straining out tears, she
blubbered out these words:

"And shall I then have no salve of Ganymede but suspense, no hope but
a doubtful hazard, no comfort, but be posted off to the will of time?
Justly have the gods balanced my fortunes, who, being cruel to
Montanus, found Ganymede as unkind to myself; so in forcing him perish
for love, I shall die myself with overmuch love."

"I am glad," quoth Ganymede, "you look into your own faults, and see
where your s