Where she was wont her Sprights to entertaine
The maisters[1044] of her art: there was she faine
To call them all in order to her ayde,
And them coniure vpon eternall paine,
To counsell her so carefully dismayd,
How she might heale her sonne, whose senses were decayd.
By their aduise[1045], and her owne wicked wit, v
She there deuiz’d a wondrous worke to frame,
Whose like on earth was neuer framed yit,
That euen Nature selfe enuide the same,