th caus'd this woe,
if for that fauour euer I did loue her,
And shee will curse mee that did vse her so,
and shee will tell thee how I lou'd another;
Twas thee _Gyneura_, twas thy fairest selfe,
I hel'd thee as a Pearle, her drossie pelfe.

Then, when thou hast found out the naked truth,
thinke of thy _Diego_, and his hard hap,
Let it procure in thee some mouing ruth,
that thus hast causelesse cast him from thy lap:
Fare-well my deere, I hope this shall suffize,
To ad a period to thy cruelties.

The Messenger to spurre forth her desires,
and hasten her vnto his well-lou'd friend,
Tells her, how hee lyes languishing in fires
of burning griefes, which neuer will haue end:
Bids her to flye to him with wings of zeale,
And thus _Diegoes_ paines hee doth reueale.

Oh Adamantick-minded Mayde (quoth hee)
why linger you in this ambiguous thought,
Open thine eyes, no longer blinded bee,
those wounding lookes, thy Louer, deere hath bought.
Vnbolt thy harts strong gate of hardest steele,
O let him nowe the warmth of pittie feele.

Oh let him now the warmth of pittie feele,
that long hath knockt cold-staruen at thy dore;
Wanting loues foode hee here & there doth reele
lyke to a storme-tost Ship that's far from shore.
Feede him with loue that long hath fed on cares,
Be Anchor to his soule that swims in teares.

_Gyneura_, let him harbour in thy hart
rig and amend his trouble-beaten face,
O calme thy hate, whose winds haue rais'd his smart
see him not perrish in this wofull case.
And for in Sea-salt teares hee long hath liu'd,
Let him by thy fresh water be relieu'd.

Oh, shall I tell thee how I found him there,
his house wherein hee liu'd (if lyue hee did,
Or rather spend his time in dying feare)
was built within the ground, all darksom hid.
From _Phoebus_ light, so vgly, hell-lyke Caue,
In all the world againe you cannot haue.

All made of rug'd hard-fauour'd stones,
whose churlish lookes afford the eye no pleasure,
In whose concauity winds breath'd horce grones,
to which sad musicke Sorrow daunc'd a measure.
O'regrowne it was with mighty shadefull Trees,
VVhere poore _Diego_ Sun nor Moone nere sees.

To this black place repaired euery morne,
The fayre _Oreades_ pitty-moued gerles,
Bringing the poore _Diego_ so forlorne,
Mosse to dry vp his teares, those liquid pearles:
Ful