T'was Venus love: That dew, the briny showre,
His coynesse wept, while strugling yet alive:
Now he repents, and gladly would revive,
By th' vertue of your chaste and powerfull charmes,
To play the modest wanton in your armes.
To Castara,
Ventring to walke too farre in the neighbouring wood.
Dare not too farre Castara, for the shade
This courteous thicket yeelds, hath man betray'd