Faire Ladies, that to loue captiued arre, xlix And chaste desires do nourish in your mind, Let not her fault your sweet affections marre, Ne blot the bounty of all womankind; ’Mongst thousands good one wanton Dame to find: Emongst the Roses grow some wicked weeds; For this was not to loue, but lust inclind; For loue does alwayes bring forth bounteous deeds, And in each gentle hart desire of honour breeds. Nought so of loue this looser Dame did skill, l But as a coale to kindle fleshly flame, Giuing the bridle to her wanton will, And treading vnder foote her honest name: Such loue is hate, and such desire is shame. Still did she roue at her with crafty glaunce Of her false eyes, that at her hart did ayme, And told her meaning in her countenaunce; But _Britomart_ dissembled it with ignoraunce. Supper was shortly dight and downe they sat, li Where they were serued with all sumptuous fare, Whiles fruitfull _Ceres_, and _Lyæus_ fat Pourd out their plenty, without spight or spare: Nought wanted there, that dainty was and rare; And aye the cups their bancks did ouerflow, And aye betweene the cups, she did prepare Way to her loue, and secret darts did throw; But _Britomart_ would not such guilfull message know. So when they slaked had the feruent heat lii Of appetite with meates of euery sort, The Lady did faire _Britomart_ entreat, Her to disarme, and with delightfull sport To loose her warlike limbs and strong effort, But when she mote not thereunto be wonne, (For she her sexe vnder that straunge purport Did vse to hide, and plaine apparaunce shonne:) In plainer wise to tell her grieuaunce she begonne. And all attonce discouered her desire liii With sighes, and sobs, and plaints, and piteous griefe, The outward sparkes of her in burning fire; Which spent in vaine, at last she told her briefe, That but if she did lend her short reliefe, And do her comfort, she mote algates dye. But the chaste damzell, that had neuer priefe Of such malengine and fine forgerie, Did easily beleeue her strong extremitie. Full easie was for her to haue beliefe, liv Who by self-feeling of her feeble sexe, And by long triall of the inward griefe, Wherewith imperious loue her hart did vexe, Could iudge what paines do louing harts perplexe. Who meanes no guile, be guiled[877] soonest shall, And to faire semblaunce doth light faith annexe; The bird, that knowes not the false fowlers call, Into his hidden net full easily doth fall.