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 I loued Pyander, so my labour lost. Faire words I had for store of coyne I gaue, But not enioyde the fruite I thought to haue. Oh so I was besotted with her words, His words that no part of a she affords: For had he bene a she iniurious boy, I had not bene so subiect to annoy, A plague vpon such filthy gullery, The world was nere so drunke with mockery: Rash headed Caualeires learne to be wise, And if you needs will do, do with aduise: Tye not affection to each wanton smile, Least doting Fancie truest loue beguile: Trust not a painted puppet as I haue done, Who far more doted then Pigmalion. The streetes are full of ingling parasites, With the true shape of Virgins counterfets: But if of force you must a hackney hire, Be curious in your choise, the best will tire: The best is bad, therefore hire none at all, Better to go on foot, then ride and fall.