"No doubt," quoth Aliena, "this poesy is the passion of some perplexed shepherd, that being enamored of some fair and beautiful shepherdess, suffered some sharp repulse, and therefore complained of the cruelty of his mistress." "You may see," quoth Ganymede, "what mad cattle you women be, whose hearts sometimes are made of adamant that will touch with no impression, and sometime of wax that is fit for every form: they delight to be courted, and then they glory to seem coy, and when they are most desired then they freeze with disdain: and this fault is so common to the sex, that you see it painted out in the shepherd's passions, who found his mistress as froward as he was enamored." "And I pray you," quoth Aliena, "if your robes were off, what mettle are you made of that you are so satirical against women? Is it not a foul bird defiles the own nest? Beware, Ganymede, that Rosader hear you not, if he do, perchance you will make him leap so far from love, that he will anger every vein in your heart." "Thus," quoth Ganymede, "I keep decorum: I speak now as I am Aliena's page, not as I am Gerismond's daughter; for put me but into a petticoat, and I will stand in defiance to the uttermost, that women are courteous, constant, virtuous, and what not." "Stay there," quoth Aliena, "and no more words, for yonder be characters graven upon the bark of the tall beech tree." "Let us see," quoth Ganymede; and with that they read a fancy written to this effect: First shall the heavens want starry light, The seas be robbed of their waves, The day want sun, and sun want bright, The night want shade, the dead men graves, The April flowers and leaf and tree, Before I false my faith to thee. First shall the tops of highest hills By humble plains be overpried, And poets scorn the Muses' quills, And fish forsake the water glide, And Iris loose her colored weed,[1] Before I fail thee at thy need. First direful hate shall turn to peace, And love relent in deep disdain, And death his fatal stroke shall cease, And envy pity every pain, And pleasure mourn and sorrow smile, Before I talk of any guile. First time shall stay his stayless race, And winter bless his brows with corn, And snow bemoisten July's face, And winter spring, and summer mourn, Before my pen, by help of fame, Cease to recite thy sacred name. MONTANUS [Footnote 1: garment. In what modern expression is this meaning of the word retained?] "No doubt," quoth Ganymede, "this protestation grew from one full of passions." "I am of that mind too," quoth Aliena, "but see, I pray, when poor women seek to keep themselves chaste, how men woo them with many feigned promises; alluring with sweet words as the Sirens, and after proving as trothless as Aeneas. Thus promised Demophoon to his Phyllis, but who at last grew more false?"