And ryght anone, as some poets wryte,
He the gret mockage dyd her well acquyte.
Dyd not a woman the famouse Vyrgyle
By her greate fraude full craftely begyle?
For on a day, for hys owne dysporte,
To the court of Rome he gan to resorte,
Amonge the ladyes the tyme for to passe;
Tyl at the last, lyke Phebus in the glasse,
So dyd a lady wyth her beaute clere
Shyne throughe his hert wyth suche love so dere,