Flew sparkling up into the sphære of fire
Whence endlesse flames it sheds in my desire.
Here be my daily pallet; here all nights[20]
That can be wrested from thy rivals armes,
O my deare Bussy, I will lye, and kisse
Spirit into thy bloud, or breathe out mine
In sighes, and kisses, and sad tunes to thine. She sings.
Enter Montsurry.
Montsurry. Still on this hant? Still shall adulterous bloud[25]
Affect thy spirits? Thinke, for shame, but this,