That he might know, and ease her sorrow sad:
Who him auizing better, to him sayd;
Faire Sir, be not displeasd, if disobayd:
For ill it were to hearken to her cry;
For she is inly nothing ill apayd,
But onely womanish fine forgery,
Your stubborne hart t’affect with fraile infirmity.
To which when she your courage hath inclind xxix
Through foolish pitty, then her guilefull bayt
She will embosome deeper in your mind,