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.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211