Thus they adjured him, by the gods on high,
Never henceforth to shoot with Cupid's quiver!
Nor love to feign: for there's no remedy,
If once relapsed, then was he mad for ever!
Tortured Daiphantus, now a sign did make;
And kind Ismenio this did undertake.
Then 'gan Artesia to play upon her lute,
Whose voice sang sweetly, now a mourning ditty;
Love her admired, though he that loved were mute,
Cupid himself feared he should sue for pity.