Was more then for Actæon not to looke.
55And that brest which lay ope, I did not know,
But for the clearnesse, from a lump of snowe,
Nor that sweet teat which on the top it bore
From the rose-bud, which for my sake you wore.
These griefs to issue forth, by verse, I prove,
60Or turne their course, by travaile, or new love:
All would not doe. The best at last I tryde:
Unable longer to hould out I dyed.