A feast in fayth, which forst my final fall:
Where Cupide’s curse constraynde me like a beast,
From Pallas prince to geue the golden ball:
For Venus vantes to Helline threwe my thrall,
Whose heauenly hewe, whose beautie freshe and fayre,
Was burnishte bright like Phœbus in the ayre.
25.
I being set at Bacchus banquetting,
His daughter deckt with nature’s tapistrie,
And trimly trickte with euery other thing,