Which stirreth youth to any kinde of strife,
Hee offered mee his daughter to my wife.
13.
Where through, and with his crafty filed tongue,
Hee stale my heart that earst vnsteady was,
For I was witlesse, wanton, fond and yong,
Whole bent to pleasure, brittle as the glasse,
I can not lye, In vino veritas:
I did esteeme the bewty of my bryde
Aboue my selfe, and all the world beside.