That would relent the direst stony hart, VVer't not offence. It's no offence quoth she. Then thus the same Ile briefely tell, quoth he: A poore old man by chance did breake his leg, And he was told where he was wont to beg, That such a Surgion (telling of his name,) If that he pleas'd, could quickly cure the same. VVhich when he heard, to him for helpe he goes, And craues for Gods sake he would ease his woes. The Surgion greedy to haue coyne therefore, But finding none, he would not heale the sore: VVhich caus'd the poore old man to keepe his bed, That he for want of helpe in time was dead. Alas poore soule; (quoth shee) and did he dye? VVould I were Iudge, or hee were such as I, I so would vse the Surgion, as that hee Should feele the griefe which he before did see. Thus you confesse your wrong to me sweet Maid, If you performe (quoth he) the vvords you said. I am the man, who wounded, seeke reliefe: And you, the causer of my endlesse griefe; You are the Surgion, whom I vrge the more To cure the wound because you made the sore. Be not obdurate then, sith my disease Is quickly cured, if the Surgion please. And this I vow, water shall turne to fire, Huge massie mountaines to the clouds aspire; The Sun shall leaue his course, the Moon her brightnes, Night turne to day, and day shall lose his lightnes; Fishes shall flye, birds swimme; and Hare shall hunt The Hound, which to pursue the Hare vvas wont: Ayre, Earth, Fire, VVater, all things which you view Shall change their natures, ere I turne from you: And longer then I breathe a loyall friend, Let me (o heauens) endure a wicked end. Silence (quoth she) and here let cease thy sute, Cause of distrust in loue did make me mute: Aske why I yeelded in so short a season, Because I loue, that is a womans reason. Yet Maides are fearefull; for by mens abuse, Courting is turned to a common vse, How is he held, that cannot in these dayes Fash'on his words to each fantasticke phrase? VVhich makes vs oft with one word to debase Him from our bosomes, whom our hearts imbrace: And, as you men doe for a Prouerbe make it, That which we loue we oft say nay and take it. Delayes breede danger, wherefore what I said, And what agrees with Honour, and a Maid, I yeeld to thee, but yet on this condition, Thou shalt not dare t'attempt the least fruition Of my chaste thoughts, by drawing them aside, Before in wedlocke I am made thy Bride. This said; shee to the Court, hee to his Hounds, _W_here they had slaine a Bore, whose bloud abounds: Glad of his prey, he hastneth home amaine, VVith short returne he comes to her againe, And hauing ioyn'd themselues in _Hymens_ bands, The sacred Priest vniteth heart and hands: They reape those ioyes which elder louers know, And thus my Tale doth end, thus ends their woe. _FINIS._ THE SCOVRGE OF VENVS. _OR_, The wanton Lady. _WITH_