Beganne againe to loue, with sighes, and grones;
Thus natures lawes, this chaunce infringed soe:
That age did loue, and youthe to graue did goe.
Till at the laste, as Cupid drewe his bowe,
Before he shotte: a younglinge thus did crye,
Oh Venus sonne, thy dartes thou doste not knowe,
They pierce too deepe: for all thou hittes, doe die:
Oh spare our age, who honored thee of oulde,
Theise dartes are bone, take thou the dartes of goulde.
Which beinge saide, a while did Cupid staye,