Phoebus had herbs to heal all
hurts but this passion; Circes had charms for all chances but for
affection, and Mercury subtle reasons to refel all griefs but love.
Persuasions are bootless, reason lends no remedy, counsel no comfort,
to such whom fancy hath made resolute; and therefore though Phoebe
loves Ganymede, yet Montanus must honor none but Phoebe."
[Footnote 1: spear.]
"Then," quoth Ganymede, "may I rightly term thee a despairing lover,
that livest without joy, and lovest without hope: but what shall I do,
Montanus, to pleasure thee? Shall I despise Phoebe, as she disdains
thee?"
"Oh," quoth Montanus, "that were to renew my griefs, and double my
sorrows; for the sight of her discontent were the censure[1] of my
death. Alas, Ganymede! though I perish in my thoughts, let not her die
in her desires. Of all passions, love is most impatient: then let not
so fair a creature as Phoebe sink under the burden of so deep a
distress. Being lovesick, she is proved heartsick, and all for the
beauty of Ganymede. Thy proportion hath entangled her affection, and
she is snared in the beauty of thy excellence.
Pages:
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206