Thou shalt (indeede) fore-tell of things to come; And truely, too; (for why my vowes are past) But heare the end of _Ioues_ eternall doome: Because thy promise did so little last, Although thou tell the truth, (this gift I giue thee) Yet for thy falsehood, no man shall beleeue thee. And (for thy sake) this pennance I impose Vpon the remnant of all woman kinde, For that they be such truth professed foes; A constant woman shall be hard to finde: And that all flesh at my dread name may tremble, When they weep most, then shall they most dissemble. This said _Apollo_ then: And since that time His words haue proved true as Oracles: Whose turning thoughtes ambitiously doe clime To heauens height; and world with lightnes fils: Whose sex are subject to inconstancie, As other creatures are to destinie. Yet famous _Sabrine_ on thy banks doth rest The fairest Maide that euer world admired: Whose constant minde, with heauenly gifts possest Makes her rare selfe of all the world desired. In whose chaste thoughts no vanitie doth enter; So pure a minde _Endymions_ Love hath lent her. Queene of my thoughts, but subiect of my verse, (Divine _Eliza_) pardon my defect: Whose artlesse pen so rudely doth reherse Thy beauties worth; (for want of due respect) Oh pardon thou the follies of my youth; Pardon my faith, my loue, my zeale, my truth. But to _Cassandra_ now: who hauing heard The cruell sentence of the threatning voice; At length (too late) begins to waxe affeard, Lamenting much her vnrepentant choice: And seeing her hard hap without reliefe, She sheeds salt teares in token of her griefe. Which when _Aurora_ saw, and saw t'was shee, Euen shee her selfe whose far-renowmed fame Made all the world to wonder at her beauty, It mou'd compassion in this ruthfull Dame: And thinking on her Sonnes sad destinie, With mournfull teares she beares her companie. Great was the mone, which faire _Cassandra_ made: Greater the kindnesse, which _Aurora_ shew'd: Whose sorrow with the sunne began to fade, And her moist teares on th'earths green grasse bestow'd: Kissing the flowers with her siluer dew, Whose fading beautie, seem'd her case to rew. Scarce was the lonely Easterne Queene departed, From stately _Ilion_ (whose proud-reared wals Seem'd to controule the cloudes, till _Vulcan_ darted Against their Tower his burning fier-bals) When sweet _Cassandra_ (leauing her soft bed) In seemely sort her selfe apparelled. And hearing that her honourable Sire, (Old princely _Pryamus Troy's_ aged King) Was gone into _Ioues_ Temple, to conspire Against the _Greekes_, (whom he to war did bring) Shee, (like a Furie), in a bedlam rage, Runs gadding thither, his fell wrath t'assuage.