And her blood sweeter will than Nectar prove.
Such miracles wait on a noble love.
But should she scorne my suite, I'le tread that path
Which none but some sad Fairy beaten hath.
There force wrong'd Philomel, hearing my mone,
To sigh my greater griefes, forget her owne.
To Castara,
Inquiring why I loved her.
Why doth the stubborne iron prove
So gentle to th' magnetique stone?