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A hunting Nymph awakned with his mone,
(That in a bowre neere-hand lay all alone,
Twining her small armes round her slender waste,
That by no others vs'd to be imbrac'd)
Got vp, and knowing what the day before
Was guiltie of; she addes not to his store
As many simply doe, whose friends so crost
They more afflict by shewing what is lost.
But bad him follow her. He, as she leads,
Vrgeth her hast. So a kinde mother treads
Earnest, distracted, where with bloud defil'd
She heares lyes dead her deere and onely childe.
Mistrust now wing'd his feet, then raging ire,
“For Speed comes euer lamely to Desire.