nous thing it was to subuert Gods ordinance.
This was all the iniurie he woulde offer her, sometimes he woulde
imagine her in a melancholic humour to be his _Geraldine_, and court her
in tearmes correspondent, nay he would sweare shee was his _Geraldine_,
& take her white hand and wipe his eyes with it, as though the very
touch of her might stanch his anguish. Now would he kneele and kisse the
ground as holy grounde which she vouchsafed to blesse from barrennesse
by her steps. Who would haue learned to write an excellent passion,
might have bin a perfect tragicke poet, had he but attended halfe the
extremitie of his lament. Passion vpon passion would throng one on
anothers necke, he would praise her beyond the moone and starres, and
that so sweetly & rauishingly, as I perswade myself he was more in loue
with his owne curious forming fancie than her face, and truth it is,
many become passionate louers, only to win praise to theyr wits.

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He praised, he praied, hee desired and besought her to pittie him that
perisht for her. From this his intranced mistaking extasie could no man
remoue him. Who loueth resolutely, will include euerie thing vnder the
name of his loue. From prose he would leape into verse, and with these
or such lyke rimes assault her.

_If I must die, O let me choose my death,
Sucke out my soule with kisses cruell maide,
In thy breasts christall bals enbalme my breath,
Dole it all out in sighs when I am laid.

Thy lips on mine like cupping glasses claspe,
Let our tongs meete and siriue as they would sting,
Crush out my winde with one strait girting graspe,
Stabs on my heart keepe time whitest thou dost sing.

Thy eies like searingyrons burne out mine,
In thy faire tresses stifle me outright,
Like Circes change me to a loathsome swine,
So I may liue for euer in thy sight
Into heauens ioyes can none prof oundly see,
Except that first they meditate on thee._

Sadly and verily, if my master said true, I should if I were a wench
make many men quickly immortall. What ist, what ist for a maide fayre
and freshe to spend a little lip salue on a hungrie louer. My master
beate the bush and kept a coile and a pratling, but I caught the birde,
simplicitie and plainnesse shall carrie it awaie in another world. God
wot he was _Petro Desperato_, when I stepping to hir with a dunstable
tale made vp my market A holy requ