Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/267

 And wounded both of them aleeke. But unlike was theyr hope. Both longed for the wedding day togither for to cope. For whom Ianthee thinkes to bee a man, shee hopes to see Her husband. Iphys loves whereof shee thinkes shee may not bee Partaker, and the selfesame thing augmenteth still her flame. Herself a Mayden with a Mayd (ryght straunge) in love became. Shee scarce could stay her teares. What end remaynes for mee (quoth shee) How straunge a love? how uncoth? how prodigious reygnes in mee? If that the Gods did favor mee, they should destroy mee quyght. Of if they would not mee destroy, at least wyse yit they myght Have given mee such a maladie as myght with nature stond, Or nature were acquainted with. A Cow is never fond Uppon a Cow, nor Mare on Mare. The Ram delyghts the Eawe, The Stag the Hynde, the Cocke the Hen. But never men could shew, That female yit was tane in love with female kynd. O would To God I never had beene borne. Yit least that Candy should Not bring foorth all that monstruous were, the daughter of the Sonne Did love a Bull. Howbee't there was a Male to dote uppon. My love is furiouser than hers, if truthe confessed bee. For shee was fond of such a lust as myght bee compast. Shee Was served by a Bull beguyld by Art in Cow of tree. And one there was for her with whom advowtrie to commit. If all the conning in the worlde and slyghts of suttle wit Were heere, or if that Daedalus himselfe with uncowth wing Of Wax should hither fly againe, what comfort should he bring? Could he with all his conning crafts now make a boay of mee? Or could he, O Ianthee, chaunge the native shape of thee? Nay rather, Iphys, settle thou thy mynd and call thy witts Abowt thee: shake thou off theis flames that foolishly by fitts Without all reason reigne. Thou seest what Nature hathe thee made (Onlesse thow wilt deceyve thy selfe.) So farre foorth wysely wade, As ryght and reason may support, and love as women ought. Hope is the thing that breedes desyre, hope feedes the amorous thought. This hope thy sex denieth thee. Not watching doth restreyne Thee from embracing of the thing wherof thou art so fayne. Nor yit the Husbands jealowsie, nor rowghnesse of her Syre, Nor yit the coynesse of the Wench dooth hinder thy desyre.