Whom when I saw with amiable grace
To laugh at[196] me, and fauour my pretence,
I was emboldned with more confidence,
And nought for nicenesse nor for enuy sparing,
In presence of them all forth led her thence,
All looking on, and like astonisht staring,
Yet to lay hand on her, not one of all them daring.
She often prayd, and often me besought, lvii
Sometime with tender teares to let her goe,
Sometime with witching smyles: but yet for nought,