t, wilt vpon thy only father dote?
I ought to loue him; yet as doth behoue,
Not that the world therby my shame may note.
O do resolue! the neerenesse of our kin,
Cuts off all hope thy wished suit to win.

Did _Cupid_ then ere shoot so yet before?
Can _Vulcan_ forge so foule an arrow now?
Or further: will dame _Venus_ euermore
Such cruelty vnto her seruants show?
No, no, I am deceiu'd; for now I see,
With poisoned snakes some fury wo[=u]ded thee.

How great (said she) o _Venus_ mayst thou be,
How was I rauished this present night,
In feeling of your pleasant sports in me?
I clipt a man in prime of his delight,
What liuely pleasures did I there conceiue?
No fault (alasse) but they too soone did leaue.

Would _Cynarus_ thou hadst some other name,
How fitly mightst thou haue a loue of me?
How nobly mightst thereby increase thy fame,
How quickly shouldst a son gaine vnto thee?
I would inforce dull earthly thoughts, to craue,
To kisse and clip, and other pastimes haue.

What meane my dreams? haue they effect at all?
May dreames a future chance to vs portend?
Let then to me such dreames more oft befall,
In dreames no present witnesse can offend.
In dreames we may as great a pleasure take,
As in some sort is found we being awake.

But yet avaunt, packe hence foule filthy fire,
Wring out some teares to quench this cursed flame
No otherwise the daughter-like require
Thy fathers loue, that blazons on thy shame.
Yet put the case he first did seeke to me;
No doubt I should to his request agree.

Why should it not then stand right so with him,
Since of one nature we participate?
What if with speech thou chance his loue to win
Then maist thou write, _No time is yet too late_.
What thou dost blush to speake, loue bids thee write
Belieue me they read more th[=e] we indite.

Resolu'd on this, with trembling hand she takes
The pen and paper, framing for to write,
Left h[=a]d holds way, whilst right the leter makes
Composing what she did in minde indite.
She writes, she doubts, she chageth this for that,
She likes, dislikes, & notes she knows not what.

She casts away, and doth begin anew,
Yet findes a want in that she framed last
She blots, & then againe that thing doth view,
And now the first more fits then all that's past.
Father she writes, yet shame did blot it out,