The King, not deeming who lay by his side, Replies, what hurt deere Lady can it be? No ill I know by that meanes can betide, The loue more firme thereby we common see: It is not ill though men the same not craue, For we want daughters till a wife we haue. She did reply, and said, why put the case That I were _Myrha_ for as men do say, My countenance resembleth much her face; Were't not offence, think you, with me to play? Misdeeming nought, againe, he doth reply; No more th[=e] 'tis with thee, sweet wench, to lie. O would, quoth _Myrha_, you could likewise proue Whereby I might but know some reafon why, It were not ill to grant to you my loue, That loue should then alone to you apply; Were I your daughter I might well consent, Say halfe so much for me I am content. The King replies, my sweete, my will is law, And may command my subiects when I will, Besides all this, you furthermore do know You must obey, I call you daughter still; Then talke no more, she said, I do agree Thy daughter and thy subiect yeelds to thee. Oh! now the father his owne child doth take, And of his owne he doth his owne beget, Of his owne loines another child doth make, Repugnant to the Law that nature set; May ones owne seed to procreation moue? No sure, unlesse it doth a monster proue. Their musicke is the scriking of the Ow'es, As if the fiends came for to sunder them, The rauing dogs affright them with their howles, As all the fiends came forth to iniure them; The stars behind the clouds, a great way hence, Like spies lie peeping to disclose the offence. Their bed doth shake and quauer as they lie, As if it groan'd to beare the weight of sinne, The fatall night-crowes at their windowes flie, And cries out at the shame they do liue in: And that they may perceiue they heauens frown, The Poukes & Goblins pul the couerings down. The pillow that her cursed head doth beare, Which is a castle of accursed ill, The weighty burthen of the same doth feare, And therefore shrinketh inwards from her stil: Whilst both the ends high swelling with disdaine Like angry foe-men raise themselues amaine. The bed, more kind then they religious are, Doth seeke to shroud their foule defiled act, And therefore lets them fall into it farre As in some vale for to conceale the fact: Like bulwarkes rising to defend their names, Or swelling mountains to obscure their shames. O there they lie and glut themselues with sin, A iocund sin that doth the flesh delight, A filthy flesh that can reioyce herein, A silly ioy that gainst the soule doth fight, A fasting sport, a pleasure soone forgot, That bringeth shame with an eternall blot.