No idle charmes so lightly may remoue,
That well can witnesse, who by triall it does proue.
Ne ought it mote the noble Mayd auayle, lii
Ne slake the furie of her cruell flame,
But that she still did waste, and still did wayle,
That through long languour, and hart-burning brame
She shortly like a pyned ghost became,
Which long hath waited by the Stygian strond.
That when old Glauce saw, for feare least blame
Of her miscarriage should in her be fond,