Breake, breake in peeces that delicious chest, whiter then snow on Hyperboreall hyll, Chase out disdaine, depriue him of his rest, murder and mangle him that rules thy will. Be it nere sayd that faire _Gyneuraes_ beauty, Was ouer-peiz'd by causelesse cruelty. Cruell to him that merrits curtesie, loathed of thee that doth deserue all loue, Basely reiected, scorn'd most churlishly, that honors thee aboue the Saints aboue. True loue is pricelesse, rare, and therefore deere, VVe feast not royall Kings with homely cheere. Too long it were to tell thee all his merits, for in delay consists his long-lookt death, Post-hast of thine must now reuiue his spirits, or shortly he will gaspe his latest breath; Speake faire _Gyneura_, speake as I desire, Or let thy vaine-breath'd speeches back retyre. Looke, as a man late taken from a trance, standes gazing heere and there in sencelesse wise, Not able of himselfe his head t'aduance, but standeth like a stone in death-like guise, So lookt _Gyneura_, hanging downe her head, Shaming that folly her so much had led. Repentant sorrow would not let her speake, the burning flames of griefe did dry her teares, Yet at the last, words out of prison breake, that long'd to vtter her harts inward cares: And stealingly there glides with heauy pace A Riuolet of Pearle along her face. O cease (quoth she) to wound me any more, with oft repeating of my cruelties, Thou of thy teares (kind man) hast shed great store, when I (vnkinder mayde) scarce wet mine eyes. O let me now bewaile him once for all, Twas none but I that causd his causelesse thrall. Eternall _Ioue_, rayne showers of vengeance on me, plague me for this blacke deed of wrongful hate, Be blind mine eyes, they shall not looke vpon thee _Diego_, till thou be compassionate: And when thou doost forgiue what I haue done, Then shall they shine like shortest-shaded sunne. O slacke thy swift-pac'd gallop winged Tyme, turne backe, and register this my disdaine; Bid Poets sing my hate in ruthfull ryme, and pen sad Iliads of _Diegoes_ paine: Let them be writ in plain-seene lines of glasse, To shew how louing he, I, cruell was. Hereat shee pausd, tell me sweet sir quoth shee, how I might see my deere-embosom'd friend, That now (if what is past may pardned be) vnto his griefes I may impose an end; Where-with they both agreed, that the next day, They would eniourney them without more stay. Long were they not, Desire still goes on Ice, and nere can stay tell that he hath his wish, Mens willing mindes each thing doth soone intice, to hast to yt which they would faine accomplish. But that they came (as hauing a good guide) Vnto the place where they _Diego_ spide.