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The language, however, is confessedly euphuistic, as may be seen by the author's comment on a speech of Samela: Samela made this reply, because she had heard him so superfine, as if Ephebus had learned him to refine his mother's tongue; wherefore though he had done it of an ink horn desire to be eloquent, and Melicertus thinking Samela had learned with Lucilla in Athens to anatomize wit, and speak none but similes, imagined she smoothed her talk to be thought like Sappho, Phaon's paramour.
"And who shamefully killed my gray cat?" "It entered Phaon's dove-cote and killed the young of his best pair of cropper pigeons." "It was a marten, not the good, kind creature. You are unfriendly in all your acts, for when our brown hen flew over to you yesterday she was driven away with stones. Did Phaon mistake her for a vulture with sharp beak and powerful talons?"
"And who shamefully killed my gray cat?" "It entered Phaon's dove-cote and killed the young of his best pair of cropper pigeons." "It was a marten, not the good, kind creature. You are unfriendly in all your acts, for when our brown hen flew over to you yesterday she was driven away with stones. Did Phaon mistake her for a vulture with sharp beak and powerful talons?"
You nurse the poor invalid like one, and if you would only " "Lysander has other plans, and Phaon's father is seeking an heiress for his son in Messina." "But surely not for the youth's happiness, nor do I come to speak to you in Protarch's name." "So you invented the little plan yourself I am afraid without success, for I've already told you that my master has other views."
When she had at last reached the myrtle grove, which had concealed the lovers from her eyes, she could not help beholding the unwelcome sight. Xanthe was resting her head on Phaon's breast, while he bent down and kissed her eyes, her mouth, and at last who ever did such things in her young days? even her delicate little nose.
At this moment, as if he had heard his name and obediently appeared at her call, the son of Alciphron, of Messina, appeared with Phaon's father, Protarch, from the shadow of the myrtle-grove. He was a gay, handsome youth, richly and carefully dressed.
Many of the niches were still empty, but in some stood vases of semi- transparent alabaster. The newest, which had found a place in the lowest row, contained the ashes of the young girl's grandfather, Dionysius, and his wife, and another pair of urns the two mothers, her own and Phaon's.
"And there stands a maiden who seems to like to hear such uncivil words better than Helen loved Paris's flattering speeches!" exclaimed Phaon's father, first kissing his future daughter's cheek and then his son's forehead. "But now let us go to father," pleaded Xanthe. "Only one moment," replied Protarch, "to look after the boxes the people are bringing.
"Mopsus has entered our service," replied Jason, laughing; "and, if our Phaon's bride will permit, he wants to wed the dark-haired Dorippe. Henceforth our property is yours." "And ours yours," replied Xanthe "Be good-natured, Semestre; I will marry no man but Phaon, and shall soon win my father over to our side, rely upon that."
"And there stands a maiden who seems to like to hear such uncivil words better than Helen loved Paris's flattering speeches!" exclaimed Phaon's father, first kissing his future daughter's cheek and then his son's forehead. "But now let us go to father," pleaded Xanthe. "Only one moment," replied Protarch, "to look after the boxes the people are bringing.
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