Thomas Lodge - Rosalynde

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"Master," quoth he, "you see we are both in one predicament, and long
I cannot live without meat; seeing therefore we can find no food, let
the death of the one preserve the life of the other. I am old, and
overworn with age, you are young, and are the hope of many honors: let
me then die, I will presently cut my veins, and, master, with the warm
blood relieve your fainting spirits: suck on that till I end, and you
be comforted."

With that Adam Spencer was ready to pull out his knife, when Rosader
full of courage (though very faint) rose up, and wished Adam Spencer
to sit there till his return; "for my mind gives me," quoth he, "I
shall bring thee meat." With that, like a madman, he rose up, and
ranged up and down the woods, seeking to encounter some wild beast
with his rapier, that either he might carry his friend Adam food, or
else pledge his life in pawn for his loyalty.

It chanced that day, that Gerismond, the lawful king of France
banished by Torismond, who with a lusty crew of outlaws lived in that
forest, that day in honor of his birth made a feast to all his bold
yeomen, and frolicked it with store of wine and venison, sitting all
at a long table under the shadow of limon trees. To that place by
chance fortune conducted Rosader, who seeing such a crew of brave men,
having store of that for want of which he and Adam perished, he
stepped boldly to the board's end, and saluted the company thus:

"Whatsoever thou be that art master of these lusty squires, I salute
thee as graciously as a man in extreme distress may: know that I and a
fellow-friend of mine are here famished in the forest for want of
food: perish we must, unless relieved by thy favors. Therefore, if
thou be a gentleman, give meat to men, and to such men as are every
way worthy of life. Let the proudest squire that sits at thy table
rise and encounter with me in any honorable point of activity
whatsoever, and if he and thou prove me not a man, send me away
comfortless. If thou refuse this, as a niggard of thy cates, I will
have amongst you with my sword; for rather will I die valiantly, than
perish with so cowardly an extreme."

Gerismond, looking him earnestly in the face, and seeing so proper a
gentleman in so bitter a passion, was moved with so great pity, that
rising from the table, he took him by the hand and bad him welcome,
willing him to sit down in his place, and in his room not only to eat
his fill, but be lord of the feast.

"Gramercy, sir," quoth Rosader, "but I have a feeble friend that lies
hereby famished almost for food, aged and therefore less able to abide
the extremity of hunger than myself, and dishonor it were for me to
taste one crumb, before I made him partner of my fortunes: therefore I
will run and fetch him, and then I will gratefully accept of your
proffer."

Away hies Rosader to Adam Spencer, and tells him the news, who was
glad of so happy fortune, but so feeble he was that he could not go;
whereupon Rosader got him up on his back, and brought him to the
place. Which when Gerismond and his men saw, they greatly applauded
their league of friendship; and Rosader, having Gerismond's place
assigned him, would not sit there himself, but set down Adam Spencer.
Well, to be short, those hungry squires fell to their victuals, and
feasted themselves with good delicates, and great store of wine. As
soon as they had taken their repast, Gerismond, desirous to hear what
hard fortune drave them into those bitter extremes, requested Rosader
to discourse, if it were not any way prejudicial unto him, the cause
of his travel. Rosader, desirous any way to satisfy the courtesy of
his favorable host, first beginning his exordium with a volley of
sighs, and a few lukewarm tears, prosecuted his discourse, and told
him from point to point all his fortunes: how he was the youngest son
of Sir John of Bordeaux, his name Rosader, how his brother sundry
times had wronged him, and lastly how, for beating the sheriff and
hurting his men, he fled.

"And this old man," quoth he, "whom I so much love and honor, is
surnamed Adam Spencer, an old servant of my father's, and one, that
for his love, never failed me in all my misfortunes."

When Gerismond heard this, he fell on the neck of Rosader, and next
discoursing unto him how he was Gerismond their lawful king exiled by
Torismond, what familiarity had ever been betwixt his father, Sir John
of Bordeaux, and him, how faithful a subject he lived, and how
honorable he died, promising, for his sake, to give both him and his
friend such courteous entertainment as his present estate could
minister, and upon this made him one of his foresters. Rosader seeing
it was the king, craved pardon for his boldness, in that he did not do
him due reverence, and humbly gave him thanks for his favorable
courtesy. Gerismond, not satisfied yet with news, began to inquire if
he had been lately in the court of Torismond, and whether he had seen
his daughter Rosalynde or no? At this Rosader fetched a deep sigh, and
shedding many tears, could not answer: yet at last, gathering his
spirits together, he revealed unto the king, how Rosalynde was
banished, and how there was such a sympathy of affections between
Alinda and her, that she chose rather to be partaker of her exile,
than to part fellowship; whereupon the unnatural king banished them
both: "and now they are wandered none knows whither, neither could any
learn since their departure, the place of their abode." This news
drave the king into a great melancholy, that presently he arose from
all the company, and went into his privy chamber, so secret as the
harbor of the woods would allow him. The company was all dashed at
these tidings, and Rosader and Adam Spencer, having such opportunity,
went to take their rest. Where we leave them, and return again to
Torismond.

The flight of Rosader came to the ears of Torismond, who hearing that
Saladyne was sole heir of the lands of Sir John of Bordeaux, desirous
to possess such fair revenues, found just occasion to quarrel with
Saladyne about the wrongs he proffered to his brother: and therefore,
dispatching a herehault,[1] he sent for Saladyne in all post-haste.
Who marvelling what the matter should be, began to examine his own
conscience, wherein he had offended his highness; but emboldened with
his innocence, he boldly went with the herehault unto the court;
where, as soon as he came, he was not admitted into the presence of
the king, but presently sent to prison. This greatly amazed Saladyne,
chiefly in that the jailer had a straight charge over him, to see that
he should be close prisoner. Many passionate thoughts came in his
head, till at last he began to fall into consideration of his former
follies, and to meditate with himself. Leaning his head on his hand,
and his elbow on his knee, full of sorrow, grief and disquieted
passions, he resolved into these terms:

[Footnote 1: herald.]

SALADYNE'S COMPLAINT

"Unhappy Saladyne! whom folly hath led to these misfortunes, and
wanton desires wrapped within the labyrinth of these calamities! Are
not the heavens doomers of men's deeds; and holds not God a balance in
his fist, to reward with favor, and revenge with justice? O Saladyne,
the faults of thy youth, as they were fond, so were they foul, and not
only discovering little nurture, but blemishing the excellence of
nature. Whelps of one litter are ever most loving, and brothers that
are sons of one father should live in friendship without jar. O
Saladyne, so it should be; but thou hast with the deer fed against the
wind, with the crab strove against the stream, and sought to pervert
nature by unkindness. Rosader's wrongs, the wrongs of Rosader,
Saladyne, cries for revenge; his youth pleads to God to inflict some
penance upon thee; his virtues are pleas that enforce writs of
displeasure to cross thee: thou hast highly abused thy kind and
natural brother, and the heavens cannot spare to quite thee with
punishment. There is no sting to the worm of conscience, no hell to a
mind touched with guilt. Every wrong I offered him, called now to
remembrance, wringeth a drop of blood from my heart, every bad look,
every frown pincheth me at the quick, and says, 'Saladyne thou hast
sinned against Rosader.' Be penitent, and assign thyself some penance
to discover thy sorrow, and pacify his wrath."

In the depth of his passion, he was sent for to the king, who with a
look that threatened death entertained him, and demanded of him where
his brother was. Saladyne made answer, that upon some riot made
against the sheriff of the shire, he was fled from Bordeaux, but he
knew not whither.

"Nay, villain," quoth he, "I have heard of the wrongs thou hast
proffered thy brother since the death of thy father, and by thy means
have I lost a most brave and resolute chevalier. Therefore, in justice
to punish thee, I spare thy life for thy father's sake, but banish
thee for ever from the court and country of France; and see thy
departure be within ten days, else trust me thou shalt lose thy head."

And with that the king flew away in a rage, and left poor Saladyne
greatly perplexed; who grieving at his exile, yet determined to bear
it with patience, and in penance of his former follies to travel
abroad in every coast till he had found out his brother Rosader. With
whom now I begin.

Rosader, being thus preferred to the place of a forester by Gerismond,
rooted out the remembrance of his brother's unkindness by continual
exercise, traversing the groves and wild forests, partly to hear the
melody of the sweet birds which recorded,[1] and partly to show his
diligent endeavor in his master's behalf. Yet whatsoever he did, or
howsoever he walked, the lively image of Rosalynde remained in memory:
on her sweet perfections he fed his thoughts, proving himself like the
eagle a true-born bird, since as the one is known by beholding the
sun, so was he by regarding excellent beauty. One day among the rest,
finding a fit opportunity and place convenient, desirous to discover
his woes to the woods, he engraved with his knife on the bark of a
myrtle tree, this pretty estimate of his mistress' perfection:

[Footnote 1: sang.]

_Sonetto_

Of all chaste birds the Phoenix doth excell,
Of all strong beasts the lion bears the bell,
Of all sweet flowers the rose doth sweetest smell,
Of all fair maids my Rosalynde is fairest.

Of all pure metals gold is only purest,
Of all high trees the pine hath highest crest,
Of all soft sweets I like my mistress' breast,
Of all chaste thoughts my mistress' thoughts are rarest.

Of all proud birds the eagle pleaseth Jove,
Of pretty fowls kind Venus likes the dove,
Of trees Minerva doth the olive love,
Of all sweet nymphs I honor Rosalynde.

Of all her gifts her wisdom pleaseth most,
Of all her graces virtue she doth boast:
For all these gifts my life and joy is lost,
If Rosalynde prove cruel and unkind.

In these and such like passions Rosader did every day eternize the
name of his Rosalynde; and this day especially when Aliena and
Ganymede, enforced by the heat of the sun to seek for shelter, by good
fortune arrived in that place, where this amorous forester registered
his melancholy passions. They saw the sudden change of his looks, his
folded arms, his passionate sighs: they heard him often abruptly call
on Rosalynde, who, poor soul, was as hotly burned as himself, but that
she shrouded her pains in the cinders of honorable modesty. Whereupon,
guessing him to be in love, and according to the nature of their sex
being pitiful in that behalf, they suddenly brake off his melancholy
by their approach, and Ganymede shook him out of his dumps thus:

"What news, forester? hast thou wounded some deer, and lost him in the
fall? Care not man for so small a loss: thy fees was but the skin, the
shoulder, and the horns: 'tis hunter's luck to aim fair and miss; and
a woodman's fortune to strike and yet go without the game."

"Thou art beyond the mark, Ganymede," quoth Aliena: "his passions are
greater, and his sighs discovers more loss: perhaps in traversing
these thickets, he hath seen some beautiful nymph, and is grown
amorous."

"It may be so," quoth Ganymede, "for here he hath newly engraven some
sonnet: come, and see the discourse of the forester's poems."

Reading the sonnet over, and hearing him name Rosalynde, Aliena looked
on Ganymede and laughed, and Ganymede looking back on the forester,
and seeing it was Rosader, blushed; yet thinking to shroud all under
her page's apparel, she boldly returned to Rosader, and began thus:

"I pray thee tell me, forester, what is this Rosalynde for whom thou
pinest away in such passions? Is she some nymph that waits upon
Diana's train, whose chastity thou hast deciphered in such epithets?
Or is she some shepherdess that haunts these plains whose beauty hath
so bewitched thy fancy, whose name thou shadowest in covert under the
figure of Rosalynde, as Ovid did Julia under the name of Corinna? Or
say me forsooth, is it that Rosalynde, of whom we shepherds have heard
talk, she, forester, that is the daughter of Gerismond, that once was
king, and now an outlaw in the forest of Arden?"

At this Rosader fetched a deep sigh, and said:

"It is she, O gentle swain, it is she; that saint it is whom I serve,
that goddess at whose shrine I do bend all my devotions; the most
fairest of all fairs, the phoenix of all that sex, and the purity of
all earthly perfection."

"And why, gentle forester, if she be so beautiful, and thou so
amorous, is there such a disagreement in thy thoughts? Happily she
resembleth the rose, that is sweet but full of prickles? or the
serpent Regius that hath scales as glorious as the sun and a breath as
infectious as the Aconitum is deadly? So thy Rosalynde may be most
amiable and yet unkind; full of favor and yet froward, coy without
wit, and disdainful without reason."

"O Shepherd," quoth Rosader, "knewest thou her personage, graced with
the excellence of all perfection, being a harbor wherein the graces
shroud their virtues, thou wouldest not breathe out such blasphemy
against the beauteous Rosalynde. She is a diamond, bright but not
hard, yet of most chaste operation; a pearl so orient,[1] that it can
be stained with no blemish; a rose without prickles, and a princess
absolute as well in beauty as in virtue. But I, unhappy I, have let
mine eye soar with the eagle against so bright a sun that I am quite
blind: I have with Apollo enamored myself of a Daphne, not, as she,
disdainful, but far more chaste than Daphne: I have with Ixion laid my
love on Juno, and shall, I fear, embrace nought but a cloud. Ah,
Shepherd, I have reached at a star: my desires have mounted above my
degree, and my thoughts above my fortunes. I being a peasant, have
ventured to gaze on a princess, whose honors are too high to vouchsafe
such base loves."

[Footnote 1: precious.]

"Why, forester," quoth Ganymede, "comfort thyself; be blithe and
frolic man. Love souseth[1] as low as she soareth high: Cupid shoots
at a rag as soon as at a robe; and Venus' eye that was so curious,
sparkled favor on pole-footed[2] Vulcan. Fear not, man, women's looks
are not tied to dignity's feathers, nor make they curious esteem where
the stone is found, but what is the virtue. Fear not, forester; faint
heart never won fair lady. But where lives Rosalynde now? at the
court?"

[Footnote 1: swoops, a term used in falconry.]

[Footnote 2: club-footed.]

"Oh no," quoth Rosader, "she lives I know not where, and that is my
sorrow; banished by Torismond, and that is my hell: for might I but
find her sacred personage, and plead before the bar of her pity the
plaint of my passions, hope tells me she would grace me with some
favor, and that would suffice as a recompense of all my former
miseries."

"Much have I heard of thy mistress' excellence, and I know, forester,
thou canst describe her at the full, as one that hast surveyed all her
parts with a curious eye; then do me that favor, to tell me what her
perfections be."

"That I will," quoth Rosader, "for I glory to make all ears wonder at
my mistress' excellence."

And with that he pulled a paper forth his bosom, wherein he read this:

_Rosalynde's Description_

Like to the clear[1] in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame color is her hair,
Whether unfolded or in twines:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde!
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Refining heaven by every wink:
The gods do fear whenas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face,
Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde.

Her lips are like two budded roses,
Whom ranks of lilies neighbor nigh,
Within which bounds she balm encloses,
Apt to entice a deity:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.

Her neck, like to a stately tower
Where love himself imprisoned lies,
To watch for glances every hour
From her divine and sacred eyes:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde.
Her paps are centres of delight,
Her paps are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where nature moulds the dew of light,
To feed perfection with the same:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.

With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue,
Her body every way is fed,
Yet soft in touch, and sweet in view:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde.
Nature herself her shape admires,
The gods are wounded in her sight,
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.

Then muse not, nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosalynde,
Since for her fair[2] there is fairer none,
Nor for her virtues so divine:
Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde.
Heigh ho, my heart, would God that she were mine!

_Periit, quia deperibat._

[Footnote 1: brightness.]

[Footnote 2: fairness.]

"Believe me," quoth Ganymede, "either the forester is an exquisite
painter, or Rosalynde far above wonder; so it makes me blush to hear
how women should be so excellent, and pages so unperfect."

Rosader beholding her earnestly, answered thus:

"Truly, gentle page, thou hast cause to complain thee wert thou the
substance, but resembling the shadow content thyself; for it is
excellence enough to be like the excellence of nature."

"He hath answered you, Ganymede," quoth Aliena, "it is enough for
pages to wait on beautiful ladies, and not to be beautiful
themselves."

"O mistress," quoth Ganymede, "hold you your peace, for you are
partial. Who knows not, but that all women have desire to tie
sovereignty to their petticoats, and ascribe beauty to themselves,
where, if boys might put on their garments, perhaps they would prove
as comely; if not as comely, it may be more courteous. But tell me,
forester," and with that she turned to Rosader, "under whom
maintainest thou thy walk?"

"Gentle swain, under the king of outlaws," said he, "the unfortunate
Gerismond, who having lost his kingdom, crowneth his thoughts with
content, accounting it better to govern among poor men in peace, than
great men in danger."

"But hast thou not," said she, "having so melancholy opportunities as
this forest affordeth thee, written more sonnets in commendations of
thy mistress?"

"I have, gentle swain," quoth he, "but they be not about me. To-morrow
by dawn of day, if your flocks feed in these pastures, I will bring
them you, wherein you shall read my passions whilst I feel them, judge
my patience when you read it: till when I bid farewell." So giving
both Ganymede and Aliena a gentle good-night, he resorted to his
lodge, leaving Aliena and Ganymede to their prittle-prattle.

"So Ganymede," said Aliena, the forester being gone, "you are mightily
beloved; men make ditties in your praise, spend sighs for your sake,
make an idol of your beauty. Believe me, it grieves me not a little to
see the poor man so pensive, and you so pitiless."

"Ah, Aliena," quoth she, "be not peremptory in your judgments. I hear
Rosalynde praised as I am Ganymede, but were I Rosalynde, I could
answer the forester: if he mourn for love, there are medicines for
love: Rosalynde cannot be fair and unkind. And so, madam, you see it
is time to fold our flocks, or else Corydon will frown and say you
will never prove good housewife."

With that they put their sheep into the cotes, and went home to her
friend Corydon's cottage, Aliena as merry as might be that she was
thus in the company of her Rosalynde; but she, poor soul, that had
love her lodestar, and her thoughts set on fire with the flame of
fancy, could take no rest, but being alone began to consider what
passionate penance poor Rosader was enjoined to by love and fortune,
that at last she fell into this humor with herself:

ROSALYNDE PASSIONATE ALONE

"Ah, Rosalynde, how the Fates have set down in their synod to make
thee unhappy: for when Fortune hath done her worst, then Love comes in
to begin a new tragedy: she seeks to lodge her son in thine eyes, and
to kindle her fires in thy bosom. Beware, fond girl, he is an unruly
guest to harbor; for cutting in by entreats, he will not be thrust out
by force, and her fires are fed with such fuel, as no water is able to
quench. Seest thou not how Venus seeks to wrap thee in her labyrinth,
wherein is pleasure at the entrance, but within, sorrows, cares, and
discontent? She is a Siren, stop thine ears to her melody; she is a
basilisk, shut thy eyes and gaze not at her lest thou perish. Thou art
now placed in the country content, where are heavenly thoughts and
mean desires: in those lawns where thy flocks feed, Diana haunts: be
as her nymphs chaste, and enemy to love, for there is no greater honor
to a maid, than to account of fancy as a mortal foe to their sex.
Daphne, that bonny wench, was not turned into a bay tree, as the
poets feign: but for her chastity her fame was immortal, resembling
the laurel that is ever green. Follow thou her steps, Rosalynde, and
the rather, for that thou art an exile, and banished from the court;
whose distress, and it is appeased with patience, so it would be
renewed with amorous passions. Have mind on thy forepassed fortunes;
fear the worst, and entangle not thyself with present fancies, lest
loving in haste, thou repent thee at leisure. Ah, but yet, Rosalynde,
it is Rosader that courts thee; one who as he is beautiful, so he is
virtuous, and harboreth in his mind as many good qualities as his face
is shadowed with gracious favors; and therefore, Rosalynde, stoop to
love, lest, being either too coy or too cruel, Venus wax wroth, and
plague thee with the reward of disdain."

Rosalynde, thus passionate, was wakened from her dumps[1] by Aliena,
who said it was time to go to bed. Corydon swore that was true, for
Charles' Wain was risen in the north. Whereupon each taking leave of
other, went to their rest, all but the poor Rosalynde, who was so full
of passions, that she could not possess any content. Well, leaving her
to her broken slumbers, expect what was performed by them the next
morning.

[Footnote 1: meditation.]

The sun was no sooner stepped from the bed of Aurora, but Aliena was
wakened by Ganymede, who, restless all night, had tossed in her
passions, saying it was then time to go to the field to unfold their
sheep. Aliena, that spied where the hare was by the hounds, and could
see day at a little hole, thought to be pleasant with her Ganymede,
and therefore replied thus:

"What, wanton! the sun is but new up, and as yet Iris' riches lie
folded in the bosom of Flora: Phoebus hath not dried up the pearled
dew, and so long Corydon hath taught me, it is not fit to lead the
sheep abroad, lest, the dew being unwholesome, they get the rot: but
now see I the old proverb true, he is in haste whom the devil drives,
and where love pricks forward, there is no worse death than delay. Ah,
my good page, is there fancy in thine eye, and passions in thy heart?
What, hast thou wrapt love in thy looks, and set all thy thoughts on
fire by affection? I tell thee, it is a flame as hard to be quenched
as that of Aetna. But nature must have her course: women's eyes have
faculty attractive like the jet, and retentive like the diamond: they
dally in the delight of fair objects, till gazing on the panther's
beautiful skin, repenting experience tell them he hath a devouring
paunch."

"Come on," quoth Ganymede, "this sermon of yours is but a subtlety to
lie still a-bed, because either you think the morning cold, or else I
being gone, you would steal a nap: this shift carries no palm, and
therefore up and away. And for Love, let me alone; I'll whip him away
with nettles, and set disdain as a charm to withstand his forces: and
therefore look you to yourself; be not too bold, for Venus can make
you bend, nor too coy, for Cupid hath a piercing dart, that will make
you cry _Peccavi_."

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