Xxviii

The fearefull Dame all quaked at the sight, And turning backe, gan fast to fly away, Untill with love revokt from vaine affright, She hardly yet perswaded was to stay, And then to him these womanish words gan say; Ah Satyrane, my dearling, and my joy, For love of me leave off this dreadfull play; To dally thus with death is no fit toy, Go find some other play-fellowes, mine own sweet boy.