Unto our musike fram'd a groaning dittie[°].
"Alass! alass! that loue should be a sinne!
Euen now my blisse and sorrowe doeth[°] beginne.
Hould wyde thy lapp, my louelie[°] Danae,
And entretaine the golden shoure so free[°],
That trikling falles[°] into thy treasurie.
As Aprill-drops not half so[°] pleasant be,
Nor Nilus overflowe to Ægipt plaines[°]
As this sweet-streames that all hir ioints imbaynes[°].
With "Oh!" and "Oh!" she itching moues hir hipps[°],