Who threatned stripes, if he his wrath did prove:
But she in chafe him from her lap did shove,
Brake bowe, brake shafts, where Cupid weeping sate,
Till that his Grandam Nature pittying it,
Of Stellas browes made him two better bowes:
And in her eyes of arrowes infinit.
O how for joye he leapes, ô how he crowes;
And straight therewith, like wagges new got to play:
Falls to shrewde turnes, and I was in his way.
With what strange checkes I in my selfe am shent,