Iii

And thou most dreaded impe of highest Jove,° Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart At that good knight so cunningly didst rove, That glorious fire it kindled in his hart, Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart, And with thy mother milde come to mine ayde; Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart,° In loves and gentle jollities arrayd, After his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd.