But understand mee: Itt is meare pitty and no bad intent, No unchast thought but my meare charity In the remembrans of our longe lost child, To showe som love to these distressed maydens.

Marke but the flow'rs That now as morning fresh, fragrant and faire, Lay ope their beautys to the courting sunne, And amongst all the modest mayden rose: These wanton with the aire until unleavd They die and so loose their virginitie.