xtreamest of all ills?

_Petron_. It is indeed the last and end of ills.
The Gods, before th'would let us tast deaths Ioyes,
Plact us ith' toyle and sorrowes of this world,
Because we should perceive th'amends and thanke them;
Death, the grim knave, but leades you to the doore
Where, entred once, all curious pleasures come
To meete and welcome you.
A troope of beauteous Ladies, from whose eyes
Love thousand arrows, thousand graces shootes,
Puts forth theire fair hands to you and invites
To their greene arbours and close shadowed walkes,[86]
Whence banisht is the roughness of our yeeres!
Onely the west wind blowes, its[87] ever Spring
And ever Sommer. There the laden bowes
Offer their tempting burdens to your hand,
Doubtful your eye or tast inviting more.
There every man his owne desires enioyes;
Fair _Lucrese_ lies by lusty _Tarquins_ side,
And woes him now againe to ravish her.
Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse;
To _Corinth_[88] any man may goe; no maske,
No envious garment doth those beauties hide,
Which Nature made so moving to be spide.
But in bright Christall, which doth supply all,
And white transparent vailes they are attyr'd,
Through which the pure snow underneath doth shine;
(Can it be snowe from whence such flames arise?)
Mingled with that faire company shall we
On bankes of _Violets_ and of _Hiacinths_,
Of loves devising, sit and gently sport;
And all the while melodious Musique heare,
And Poets songs that Musique farre exceed,
The old _Anaiccan_[89] crown'd with smiling flowers,
And amorous _Sapho_ on her Lesbian Lute
Beauties sweet Scarres and Cupids godhead sing.

_Anton_. What? be not ravisht with thy fancies; doe not
Court nothing, nor make love unto our feares.

_Petron_. Is't nothing that I say?

_Anton_. But empty words.

_Petron_. Why, thou requir'st some instance of the eye.
Wilt thou goe with me, then, and see that world
Which either will returne thy old delights,
Or square thy appetite anew to theirs?

_Anton_. Nay, I had rather farre believe thee here;
Others ambition such discoveries seeke.
Faith, I am satisfied with the base delights
Of common men. A wench, a house I have,
And of my own a garden: Ile not change
For all your walkes and ladies and rare fruits.

_Petron_. Your pleasures must of force resign to these:
In vaine you shun the sword, in vaine the sea,
In vaine is _Nero_ fear'd or flattered.
Hether you must and leave your purchast