The news were so welcome to the two lovers, that up they rose, and went with Corydon. As soon as they drew nigh the thicket, they might espy where Phoebe sate, the fairest shepherdess in all Arden, and he the frolickest swain in the whole forest, she in a petticoat of scarlet, covered with a green mantle, and to shroud her from the sun, a chaplet of roses, from under which appeared a face full of nature's excellence, and two such eyes as might have amated[1] a greater man than Montanus. At gaze upon the gorgeous nymph sat the shepherd, feeding his eyes with her favors, wooing with such piteous looks; and courting with such deep-strained sighs, as would have made Diana herself to have been compassionate. At last, fixing his looks on the riches of her face, his head on his hand, and his elbow on his knee, he sung this mournful ditty: [Footnote 1: dismayed.] _Montanus' Sonnet_ A turtle sate upon a leaveless tree, Mourning her absent fere[1] With sad and sorry cheer: About her wondering stood The citizens of wood, And whilst her plumes she rents And for her love laments, The stately trees complain them, The birds with sorrow pain them. Each one that doth her view Her pain and sorrows rue; But were the sorrows known That me hath overthrown, Oh how would Phoebe sigh if she did look on me! The lovesick Polypheme, that could not see, Who on the barren shore His fortunes doth deplore, And melteth all in moan For Galatea gone, And with his piteous cries Afflicts both earth and skies, And to his woe betook Doth break both pipe and hook, For whom complains the morn, For whom the sea-nymphs mourn, Alas, his pain is nought; For were my woe but thought, Oh how would Phoebe sigh if she did look on me! Beyond compare my pain; Yet glad am I, If gentle Phoebe deign To see her Montan die. [Footnote 1: companion.] After this, Montanus felt his passions so extreme, that he fell into this exclamation against the injustice of Love: Helas, tyran, plein de rigueur, Modere un peu ta violence: Que te sert si grande depense? C'est trop de flammes pour un coeur. Epargnez en une etincelle, Puis fais ton effort d'emouvoir, La fiere qui ne veut point voir, En quel feu je brule pour elle. Execute, Amour, ce dessein, Et rabaisse un peu son audace: Son coeur ne doit etre de glace, Bien qu'elle ait de neige le sein.