There his flocks
Drink their fill,
And with ease repose,
Whilst sweet sleep doth close
Eyes from toilsome ill.
But I burn
Without rest,
No defensive power
Shields from Phoebe's lour;
Sorrow is my best.
Gentle Love,
Lour no more;
If thou wilt invade
In the secret shade,
Labor not so sore.
I myself
And my flocks,
They their love to please,
I myself to ease,
Both leave the shady oaks;
Content to burn in fire,
Sith Love doth so desire.
_Et florida pungunt._
[Footnote 1: Sirius, the dog star.]
Gerismond, seeing the pithy vein of those sonnets, began to make
further inquiry what he was. Whereupon Rosader discoursed unto him the
love of Montanus to Phoebe, his great loyalty and her deep cruelty,
and how in revenge the gods had made the curious nymph amorous of
young Ganymede. Upon this discourse the king was desirous to see
Phoebe, who being brought before Gerismond by Rosader, shadowed the
beauty of her face with such a vermilion teinture, that the king's
eyes began to dazzle at the purity of her excellence.
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