2370Allowed her pulse, and juice of clouds to sup,
And bade her scores of Ave Maries say.
Three artificial days she lodgèd there,
Where every day to her did seem a year.
When she had paid this penance for her crime
(Which in her judgement was accounted bad),
She was again amongst the virgins prime,
On promise that she would not henceforth gad.
Yet still she plotted, but where'er she went,
The angry destines thwarted her intent.