yet his iudgements nere
downe would she sit, and so vnfolde her moane
that Eccho sight hirs and forgot her owne.

Distressed twixt the teadiousnesse of life,
and trembling feare of death, she thus began:
For when we cease to be the crimes are rife,
which youth committed, and before vs then.
For aged memorie doth clasp't containe,
Those shapes of sin, which hot blood held as vain.
O cursed Fates quoth she, that brought to passe
this prodegie twixt me and Cyniras.

O leaue to leape for ioy, thou prettie childe,
to Heare of Cyniras, or ile leaue rather:
To speake of him, whose bed I haue defilde,
& made him proue thy Grandsire & thy Father
Was I predestin'd to select no other,
But fated for the sister and the Mother,
of thee my babe, heauen here hath beene sinister
the childe shall call his grandsire, son his mother sister.

Oft doe two Roses grow out from one stem,
and one of them is full blowne fore the other,
So fares it now with thee my virgin iem,
whome nature would call sonne but shame saies brother
Shall I not blush when thou art ripe, to gather
The circumstances of who was thy Father,
yes sure I shall, yet shame forgets all shame,
Ile charge thy father of a heauenly name.

But oh, I feare me least some Prodegie,
the heauens agree, that I to light should bring;
to fright ee'n the yron age, that chastitie
might take example by my suffering.
That I a monster-mother should be made,
If soe, O ouer equall Gods, let _Mirrha_ fade
into some shape, worthy your high deuice,
Pitty to me, would make Ioue seeme vnwise.

Alter O Gods, death that is due to birth,
nor let the dead repine, that I should see
Eliziums blest shades, nor the men of earth
annoided be with my impuritie,
Let them enioy the fieldes, and learned Songes,
Of hye brow'd Orpheus, let the vnflesht thronges
that haue deseru'd this, and much more be glad,
my starres, my double life, and fate, are sad.

You wearyed race of Danans vnblest girles,
In vaine leaue off your vnwomb'd tubs to fill,
& with your teares that staynd ye Indyan pearles,
Weepe out for Mirrha, and ere night you will
at my sad story orebrim with your teares,
Your whirle-poole vessells, which so many yeres
return'd no interest, if you well deplore,
you'le drowne in teares, or labour so no more.

C[=o]clude my fate, quicke you