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And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm–

Earth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good.

Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force

Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm, the lusty courser’s rein;

Under her other was the tender boy,

Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy.

She red and hot as coals of glowing fire;

He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough

Nimbly she fastens —O, how quick is love!

The steed is stallèd up, and even now

To tie the rider she begins to prove.

Backward she pushed him, as she would be thrust,

And governed him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,

Each leaning on their elbows and their hips.

Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown

And ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,

And, kissing, speaks, with lustful language broken:

‘lf thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.’

He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears

Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks.

Then, with her windy sighs and golden hairs,

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