Laying his hand. A happy night of rest
Reward thy labours sister: yet ere we part,
Feel in my lips the passion of my heart.
To another straight he turn’d his face, and kist her,
And then he cryes, All peace be with thee Sister.
To another in a godly tune he whines,
Nere a profane kisse among all these.
Deare Sister from thy lip Ile take my tines.
With that he kist, and whispers in her eare,
The time when it should be, and the place where.