,
with oft repeating of my cruelties,
Thou of thy teares (kind man) hast shed great store,
when I (vnkinder mayde) scarce wet mine eyes.
O let me now bewaile him once for all,
Twas none but I that causd his causelesse thrall.

Eternall _Ioue_, rayne showers of vengeance on me,
plague me for this blacke deed of wrongful hate,
Be blind mine eyes, they shall not looke vpon thee
_Diego_, till thou be compassionate:
And when thou doost forgiue what I haue done,
Then shall they shine like shortest-shaded sunne.

O slacke thy swift-pac'd gallop winged Tyme,
turne backe, and register this my disdaine;
Bid Poets sing my hate in ruthfull ryme,
and pen sad Iliads of _Diegoes_ paine:
Let them be writ in plain-seene lines of glasse,
To shew how louing he, I, cruell was.

Hereat shee pausd, tell me sweet sir quoth shee,
how I might see my deere-embosom'd friend,
That now (if what is past may pardned be)
vnto his griefes I may impose an end;
Where-with they both agreed, that the next day,
They would eniourney them without more stay.

Long were they not, Desire still goes on Ice,
and nere can stay tell that he hath his wish,
Mens willing mindes each thing doth soone intice,
to hast to yt which they would faine accomplish.
But that they came (as hauing a good guide)
Vnto the place where they _Diego_ spide.

Sacred _Pymplaeides_ endip my quill
within the holy waters of your spring,
Infuze into my braine some of your skill,
that ioyfully of these I now may sing:
These Louers now twixt whom late dwelt annoy,
Swymming in seas of ouer-whelming ioy.

But, pardon mee you Dames of Helycon,
for thus inuoking your diuinest ayde,
Which was by me (vnworthy) call'd vpon,
at your rare knowledge I am much dismaide;
My barren-witted braines are all too base,
To be your sacred learnings resting place.

Thus, of themselues, in pleasures extasie,
these Louers now embrace them in theyr armes,
Speechlesse they are, eye counterfixt on eye,
like two that are coniur'd by magique charmes.
So close their armes were twin'd, so neer they came
As if both man and woman were one frame.

In th'end, (as doth a Current lately stayd,
rush mainly forth his long-imprisoned flood)
So brake out words; and thus _Dyego_ sayd,
what my _Gyneura_? O my harts chiefe good,
Ist possible that thou thy selfe should'st daigne