Ne ought on earth that louely is and fayre,
But thou the same for pleasure didst prepayre.
Thou art the root of all that ioyous is,
Great God of men and women, queene of th’ayre,
Mother of laughter, and welspring of blisse,
O graunt that of my loue at last I may not misse.
So did he say: but I with murmure soft, xlviii
That none might heare the sorrow of my hart,
Yet inly groning deepe and sighing oft,
Besought her to graunt ease vnto my smart,