lowed lust, for loues lies drownd in poison
in what blacke ornament shall I attire thee?
Since I must write of thy so sad confusion,
shall I say _Cupid_ with his brand did fire thee?
Accuse the Fates, or thee shall I accuse?
_Mirrha_ weepes yet, onely say this my Muse:
wise destinie, true loue and mortall thought,
would nere confirme this, the furies brought this.

She loues her Father, Daughter nere lou'd so,
for as her mother lou'd so lou'd she him:
Thirsting in fire those softer sweetes to know,
Amidst whose waues, _Uenus_ in pride doth swim
So young she was, yet that her father kist her.
Which she so duely lookes for he nere mist her,
Yet could he haue conceiu'd as he did after
those kisses rellish much vnlike a daughter.

Giue to her golde of Ophire Indian shels,
Cloath her with Tirian purple skin of beast:
Perfurme her waies with choice Arabian smells,
Present her with the Phoenix in her nest,
Delight her eare with song of poets rare,
All these with _Cyneas_ might naught compare,
"The comfort of the minde being tane away,
"_Nectar_ not pleaseth, nor _Ambrosia_.

The feast of _Bacchus_ at this present time,
Was by the giddie _Menades_ intended
There _Mirrha_ daunc'd, and _Orpheus_ sung in rime
crownd with green thirses, now yet y[=u]hes ended
with praise to _Bacchus_ all depart with spright,
vnto their feastes, feasts that deuoure the night,
for loe, the stars, in trauaile in the skie,
brought forth their brightnes to each waking eye.

High midnight came, and she to bedward hies,
pretending rest, to beguile natures rest:
Anon the gloomy gallerie she spies,
toward her chamber, and she first that blest,
Her care-fild eyes, her fathers picture was
Arm'd but the face, although it dumbe, alasse,
she ask'd and if he call'd, seeing no reply,
she answer'd for her father, and said I.

Daughter (quoth she) why art thou thus alone?
Let Doues so mourn girle, yt hath lost their mates
Thine is to come, then prethee cease thy mone,
Care shold not dwel with great & high estates.
Let her that needs and is not faire at all,
Repine at fortune, loue shall be thy thrall,
wing'd as he is, and armed thou shalt see,
(I haue the power to giue) & giue him thee.

Father (quoth she) and spoke with smaller voice,
Nature hath made me yours, yours I must be:
You choose my choic