And when the sunne doth settle in the west,
Then I begin to don my ugly hide:
And all the day I sit, as now you see,
And speake in riddles all inspirde with rage,
Seeming an olde and miserable man: 180
And yet I am in Aprill of my age.
Enter Venelia his Lady mad; and goes in againe.
See where Venelya, my betrothed love,
Runs madding all inrag'd about the woods,
All by his curssed and inchanting spels.