with the fresh of thy wraths winter, dyes!
Here on Loves altar I doo offer up
This burning hart for my soules sacrifice;
Here I receave this deadly-poysned cu[p]
Of Circe charm'd, wherein deepe magicke lyes.
Then teares, if you be happie teares indeed,
And hart, if thou be lodged in his brest,
And cup, if thou canst helpe despaire with speed,
Teares, hart, and cup, conjoine to make me blest!
Teares move, hart win, cup cause, ruth, love, desire,
In word, in deed; by moane, by zeale, by fire.

FINIS.

THE COMPLAINT OF CHASTITIE, BRIEFELY TOUCHING THE CAUSE
OF THE DEATH OF MATILDA FITZWALTERS, AN ENGLISH
LADIE, SOMETIME LOVED OF KING JOHN, AFTER
POYSONED. THE STORIE IS AT LARGE
WRITTEN BY MICHAEL DREYTON.

You modest dames, inricht with chastitie,
Maske your bright eyes with Vestaes sable vaile,
Since few are left so faire or chast as shee,
Matter for me to weepe, you to bewaile!
For manie seeming so, of Vertue faile,
Whose lovely cheeks, with rare vermilion tainted,
Can never blush, because their faire is painted.

O faire-foule tincture, staine of woman kinde,
Mother of Mischiefe, daughter of Deceate,
False traitor to the soule, blot to the minde,
Usurping tyrant of true beauties seate!
Right cousner of the eye, lewd follies baite,
The flag of filthines, the sinke of shame,
The divells dye, dishonour of thy name!

Monster of art, bastard of bad desier,
Il-worshipt idoll, false imagerie!
Ensigne of vice, to thine owne selfe a lier,
Silent inchaunter, mindes anatomie,
Sly bawd to lust, pandor to infamie,
Slaunder of Truth, truth of dissimulation,
Staining our clymate more than anie nation!

What shall I say to thee, thou scorne of Nature,
Blacke spot of sinne, vylde lure of lecherie,
Injurious blame to everie faemale creature,
Wronger of time, broker of trecherie,
Trap of greene youth, false womens witcherie,
Handmaid of pride, highway to wickednesse,
Yet pathway to repentance nere the lesse?

Thou dost entice the minde to dooing evill,
Thou setst dissention twixt the man and wife;
A saint in show, and yet indeed a devill,
Thou art the cause of everie common strife;
Thou art the life of Death, the death of Life!
Thou doost be