bolt is leuel'd at thy head,
Vnlesse thy eies prepare them for to weepe,
With fire and sword thou art betrai'd in bed,
Awaken wench, the day of doome bewray,
And see the father his owne child betray.

And whither steales thou furious _Cynaras_?
Why seekes a light to open thy owne shame?
Who hop'st to finde in this accursed place?
Make not such hast to spy thy ignoble game,
Stay, stay thy feete, thou wilt repent to late,
Mischiefe itselfe comes in with speedy gate.

What, sleepst thou _Myrha_? why th[=e] sleep thou long
Or else awake and welcome in thy woes,
Another happy day will neuer come,
Pale misery thy pleasure ouer-goes;
Dreame sleeping, thou didst with thy father lie,
Or wake, and see him reuenge the villany.

Confound thy head, and all thy parts with feare,
And thinke the fiends incompasse thee about,
Striuing with burning tongs thy flesh to teare,
Pulling thy tongue and eies with tortures out;
O thinke with raizors they do flea thy skin,
_A_dding new tortures vnto euery sin.

Now comes the father, being fully bent
For to disclose his loue with his faire light,
Sleepe _Myrha_, thou hast time for to repent,
Arise in care, passe many a weary night;
Looke _Cyneras_, and spy disgrace too soone,
_Myrha_ awake, see what thy lust hath done.

Blush lustfull King, and see the end of lust,
Behold thy owne dishonour and disgrace,
Learne what it is to vse thy wife vniust,
And lay a Strumpet in her Princely place,
Sham follows th[=e] reu[=e]ge hangs o're their heads
That basely do defile their marriage bed.

It's like a tender flower nipt with frost,
It euer after hangs his drooping head,
And hath her wonted prime of glory lost,
Or like the cup that hath his _Nectar_ shed:
Cracke you the richest pointed Diamond,
And all his prise and glory's lost and gone.

Old _Cynaras_ his daughter knowing well,
For very anger could not speake a word,
But into most outragious fury fell,
And would have kil'd the Lady with a sword,
But nimbly she, by helpe of cloudy night,
Conueyes her selfe out of her fathers sight.

Most like a Lyon, ranging for a pray,
Each corner of the house he madly lookes,
No barre, or stop, doth hinder him, or stay,
He rifles chambers, beds, and secret nookes.
This Lyon seekes for her, the dart did throw,
And quietly lets all the other go.