Now came the time, of _Ceres_ sacred rite, and Misteries, when all wives young and olde Cloathed in vailes, all of transparent white, Kneele to her, and to the Attick priest vnfolde, The firstlings of the fiel'd wreath'd gilded corne, Chaplets of dill, pluckt in a blushing morne, And many such, nor may they husbands see, In nine daies, till they end their misterie. Now nurse was double diligent, watching her time and told old _Cynitas_ a louely maide Sigh'd for him: and still with cupps of wine betwixt each word his pallat she assaide. Heated with wines, he bad the Nurse repaide, and bring to him the Maide that was so faire, _Bacchus_ & _Venus_, Wine and frolicke lust, are sworne to blood, and keepe togither must. _Mirrha_ no sooner heard this glad reply, but as a poore bird long time in a snare, Ready for fammine and her woe to die, whom an vnskilful fouler vnaware hath guiuen freedome, to her foode doth hast, so Mirrha thought each houre an age was past: In her strict torments but being scapt away, her woes forgot, she thinkes vppon her prey. And as she did ascend those staires to lust, in the midway, she heard her father speake: And nere lay partridge closer to the dust, at sound o' the Faulccons bell, then she too weak To encounter or resist: and feares are such, in loue by loue, that they enccrease loue much. Loue like to Monarkes, hath his state hie reared who euer wil be lou'd, where they are feared. To a hundred seueral passions she doth yeeld, and as we see in Autumne of the yere Some gallant oake stand ready to be feld, vppon whose ribs a hundred wounds appeare Forc'd by the brawnie armes of Hynds vnlithe, who workes a passage to the weeping pith: Vncertaine (though wind shaken) where to fall: so stood her mynd doutful of rest at al. Nurse opes the doore, and brings her to the bed the darkenesse of the night abated shame: And leaues her that must leaue her maiden head to the begetter of his owne defame, With faultring hams hauing got twixt the sheetes, In fearefull lust this _Prodegiae_ meetes, He begs a kisse, then blusht she as he spake it, yet he must giue it, shee wants power to take it. Now trembling lay she by her fathers side, like filly doue within the Eagles gripe: Nor doth she vse soft shrikes as doth a bride, (I meane a maide) when as the fruite so ripe Of maiden-head, forced from their wombe, Her fathers armes to her was as a tombe. She dead in pleasure, durst not shew her voice, least _Cyniras_ should know this faire foule choice.