ed blacker then the Chimnies stocke.
O purifie thy soule my dearest Loue,
Dislodge thy hate, and thy disdaine remoue.

But all in vaine I speake vnto the wind,
then should they carry these my plaints vnto her,
Mee thinks thou still shouldst beare a gentle mind,
(deere-louing _Zephire_) pray, intreate, & woo her;
Tell her twere pittie I should dye alone,
Here in these woods wher non can heare me mone.

But tis no matter, shee is pittylesse
like the Scycilian stone that more tis beate
Doth waxe the harder; stones are not so ruthlesse,
which smallest drops doe pierce though nere so great:
If Seas of teares would weare into her hart,
I had ere this beene eased of my smart.

Thus in these speeches would _Diego_ sit
bathing his siluer cheekes with trickling teares,
VVhich (often running downe) at last found fit
channells to send them to their standing meares,
VVho at his feete (before his feete there stood
A poole of teares) receau'd the smaller flood.

Ne're had the world a truer louing hart,
_Abydos_ cease to speake of constant loue,
Por sure (thou Sygnior _Dom Diego_) art
the onely man that e're hates force did proue;
Thy changelesse loue hath close inrol'd thy name,
In steele-leau'd booke of euer-lyuing fame.

That wide-mouth'd time wc swallows good desarts
shall shut his iawes, & ne're deuoure thy name,
Thou shalt be crown'd with bayes by louing harts,
and dwell in Temple of eternall Fame;
There, is a sacred place reseru'd for thee,
There, thou shalt liue with perpetuitie.

So long liu'd poore _Diego_ in this case
that at the length hee waxed somwhat bold,
To search the woods where hee might safely chase,
(necessitie, thy force cannot be told)
The fearefull Hare, the Connie, and the Kid,
Time made him knowe the places where they bid.

This young-year'd Hermit, one day mong the rest
as hee was busilie prouiding meate,
VVhich was with Natures cunning almost drest,
dri'd with the Sunne new readie to be eate,
Inrag'd vpon a suddaine throwes away
His hard-got foode; and thus began to say.

O cruell starres, Step-mothers of my good,
& you, you ruthlesse Fates what meane you thus,
So greedely to thirst for my harts blood,
why ioy you so in vnuniting vs?
Great powres infuse some pitty in her hart
That thus hath causelesse caus'd in me this smart.

I ne're was wont to vse suc