Or to allure such fondlings, whom she trayned
Into her trap vnto their owne decay:
Thereto, when needed, she could weepe and pray,
And when her listed, she could fawne and flatter;
Now smyling smoothly, like to sommers day,
Now glooming sadly, so to cloke her matter;
Yet were her words but wynd, and all her teares but water.
Whether such grace were giuen her by kynd, xliii
As women wont their guilefull wits to guyde;
Or learn’d the art to please, I doe not fynd.