A slouenly Charme for sore eies.

I find my Scepter shaken by enchantments Charactred in this parchment, which to unloose I'le practise only counter-charmes of fire And blow the spells of lightning into smoake: Fetch burning Tapers.

So we, that earst were wont in sweet accord All places with our pleasant notes to fill, Whilest favourable times did us afford Free libertie to chaunt our charmes at will, All comfortlesse upon the bared bow*, 245 Like wofull culvers**, doo sit wayling now.

Thy aide, deere Tulley, Be thou an Orratour for Lentulus, My tongue stands tun[è]d to a harsher method; Breath in her eares, those Organs of receite, A quintessence distild of honny words, And charme with a beguiling lullabye Her free consent to thine and my request: Which done, thats done which is my sole delight, Which done, thats done that I can never quite.