ration of his fall made
Ganymede full of sorrows; yet, that she might triumph over fortune
with patience, and not any way dash that merry day with her dumps, she
smothered her melancholy with a shadow of mirth, and very reverently
welcomed the king, not according to his former degree, but to his
present estate, with such diligence as Gerismond began to commend the
page for his exquisite person and excellent qualities.

[Footnote 1: affections.]

As thus the king with his foresters frolicked it among the shepherds,
Corydon came in with a fair mazer[1] full of cider, and presented it
to Gerismond with such a clownish salute that he began to smile, and
took it of the old shepherd very kindly, drinking to Aliena and the
rest of her fair maids, amongst whom Phoebe was the foremost. Aliena
pledged the king, and drunk to Rosader; so the carouse went round
from him to Phoebe, &c. As they were thus drinking and ready to go to
church, came in Montanus, apparelled all in tawny, to signify that he
was forsaken; on his head he wore a garland of willow, his bottle
hanged by his side, whereon was painted despair, and on his sheep-hook
hung two sonnets, as labels of his loves and fortunes.

[Footnote 1: mug.]

Thus attired came Montanus in, with his face as full of grief as his
heart was of sorrows, showing in his countenance the map of
extremities. As soon as the shepherds saw him, they did him all the
honor they could, as being the flower of all the swains in Arden; for
a bonnier boy was there not seen since that wanton wag of Troy that
kept sheep in Ida. He, seeing the king, and guessing it to be
Gerismond, did him all the reverence his country courtesy could
afford; insomuch that the king, wondering at his attire, began to
question what he was. Montanus overhearing him, made this reply:

"I am, sir," quoth he, "Love's swain, as full of inward discontents as
I seem fraught with outward follies. Mine eyes like bees delight in
sweet flowers, but sucking their full on the fair of beauty, they
carry home to the hive of my heart far more gall than honey, and for
one drop of pure dew, a ton full of deadly Aconiton. I hunt with the
fly to pursue the eagle, that flying too nigh the sun, I perish with
the sun; my thoughts are above my reach, and my desires more than my
fortunes, yet neither greater than my loves. But daring with Phaethon,
I fall with Icarus, and seeking to pass the mean, I die for being so
mean; my night-sleeps are wak