Quoth she, I pray thee tell the cause to me, Behold these empty dugs, and head all gray, These hands that pain haue took in rocking thee Let some, or all these, cause thee to bewray What cruel means haue broght thee in this case. At which the Lady turnd away her face. O be not coy sweet! hide thou nought from me, I am thy Nurse, she said, and haue good skill In charms, & hearbs, & dreams, that powerful be, Of what thou wantst, Ile helpe thee to thy fill. Art thou in loue, or witcht by any wight? Il'e finde thee ease, or else will free the quite. I haue bene wanton once as well as you, Now yet by age, am altogether dull, I haue beene loue-sicke, as you may be now, Of toyes and loue-trickes I was wondrous full, How strange so ere thy case do therefore stand, I can and will redresse it out of hand. Thou art in _Loue_ (my sweet) I well espy, If so, no lacke shalt finde in me, I sweare, The Lady in her armes sob'd bitterly, The Nurse replyd, and sayd; Why do not feare, Thy father shall not know of this at all: At which she starts, and on her bed doth fall. And frantickly she tumbles on her face, And said, get hence (good Nurse) I pre'thee go, Constraine me not to shew my wicked case. That case (quoth she) I pray thee let me know. Get hence, she answer'd, or enquire lesse, 'Tis wickednesse thou wouldst haue me c[=o]fesse. 'Tis such a thing, that if I want, I die, And being got, is nothing else but shame. The Nurse hereat did sigh most heauily, And on her knees besought to know the same, And holding vp her hands as she did kneele, Said; Madame, tell the priuie griefe you feele. If you will not discouer this to me I will acquaint your father out of hand, How you had hang'd your selfe, wer't not for me; But if you tell, your trusty friend Il'e stand, And let your griefe of any nature be, It shall go hard, but Il'e finde remedy. And if your case be ill, you need not feare The heauie load the wickednesse doth bring, I'le teach thee how most easily to beare, My age hath got experience in each thing. Tell me what 'tis that doth so neerely touch, One woman may perswade another much. And now the Lady raisd her heauy head, Hanging vpon her Nurses bosome fast, As she did rise vp from her slothfull bed, Being prodigall, her christall teares to waste, Now she wold speak, & now her speech doth stay Th[=e] shame doth cause her turne her face away. A franticke fury doth possesse her now, And then she drawes her garment ore her face, And wrings her hands, & to her Nurse doth vow For to acquaint her with her wretched case. And shedding brinish teares into her breast, Thus much her griefe to her at last exprest.