And euerie stroake in ordre lyke a chyme,
Whilst she, that had preseru'd me by hir pittie,
Unto our musike fram'd a groaning dittie. 188

"Alass! alass! that loue should be a sinne!
Euen now my blisse and sorrowe doeth beginne.
Hould wyde thy lapp, my louelie Danae,
And entretaine the golden shoure so free, 192

That trikling falles into thy treasurie.
As Aprill-drops not half so pleasant be,
Nor Nilus overflowe to Ægipt plaines
As this sweet-streames that all hir ioints imbaynes. 196

With "Oh!" and "Oh!" she itching moues hir hipps,
And to and fro full lightlie starts and skips:
She ierkes hir leggs, and sprauleth with hir heeles;
No tongue maie tell the solace that she feeles, 200

"I faint! I yeald! Oh, death! rock me a-sleepe!
Sleepe! sleepe desire! entombed in the deepe!"
"Not so, my deare," my dearest saint replyde,
"For, from us yett, thy spirit maie not glide 204

Untill the sinnowie channels of our blood
Without their source from this imprisoned flood;
And then will we (that then will com too soone),
Dissolued lye, as though our dayes were donne." 208

The whilst I speake, my soule is fleeting hence,