When Venus there maintained the mystery.
But others fell with that conceit by the ears,
And cried it was a threatning to the bears,
And that accursed ground, the Paris-garden:
‘Nay,’ sighed a sister, ‘Venus’ nun, Kate Arden,
Kindled the fire!’ But then, did one return,
No fool would his own harvest spoil or burn!
If that were so, thou rather wouldst advance
The place that was thy wife’s inheritance.
‘Oh no,’ cried all, ‘Fortune, for being a whore,