“At the first sight that Basilius had of me, I think Cupid having headed his arrows with my misfortune, he was stricken, taking me to be such as I profess, with great affection towards me, which since is grown to such a doting love that till I was fain to get this place sometimes to retire unto freely, I was even choked with his tediousness. You never saw four score years dance up and down more lively in a young lover; now, as fine in his apparel, as if he would make me in love with a cloak, and verse for verse with the sharpest-witted lover in Arcadia. Do you not think that is a sallet of wormwood; while mine eyes feed upon the Ambrosia of Philoclea’s beauty? but this is not all; no, this is not the worst: for he, good man, were easy enough to be dealt with, but, as I think, love and mischief having made a wager which should have most power in me, have set Gynecia also on such a fire toward me, as will never, I fear, be quenched but with my destruction. For, she being a woman of excellent wit and of strong working thoughts, whether she suspected me by my over-vehement shows of affection to Philoclea (which love forced me unwisely to utter, while hope of my mask foolishly encouraged me) or that she hath taken some other mark of me, that I am not a woman; or what devil it is hath revealed it unto her, I know not: but so it is, that all her countenances, words, and gestures are even miserable portraitures of a desperate affection. Whereby a man may learn that these avoidings of company do but make the passions more violent when they meet with fit subjects. Truly it were a notable dumb show of Cupid’s kingdom, to see my eyes, languishing with over-vehement longing, direct themselves to Philoclea; and Basilius, as busy about me as a bee, and indeed as cumbersome, making such vehement suits to me, who neither could if I would, nor would if I could, help him, while the terrible wit of Gynecia, carried with the beer of violent love, runs through us all. And so jealous is she of my love to her daughter that I could never yet begin to open my mouth to the unevitable Philoclea but that her unwished presence gave my tale a conclusion before it had a beginning. And surely, if I be not {73} deceived, I see such shows of liking, and, if I be acquainted with passions, of almost a passionate liking in the heavenly Philoclea towards me, that I may hope her ears would not abhor my discourse. And for good Basilius, he thought it best to have lodged us together, but that the eternal hatefulness of my destiny made Gynecia’s jealousy stop that, and all other my blessings. Yet must I confess that one way her love doth me pleasure, for since it was my foolish fortune, or unfortunate folly, to be known by her, that keeps her from betraying me to Basilius. And thus, my Musidorus, you have my tragedy played unto you by myself, which I pray the gods may not indeed prove a tragedy.” And therewith he ended, making a full point of a hearty sigh.