raine,

phetua,

As poets they did faine: From natures lawes he did decline,

For sure he was not of my mind,
He cared not for womenkinde,

He did them all disdaine.
But, marke, what hapned on a day,
As he out of his window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,

The which did cause his paine.

And, as he musing thus did lye,

He thought for to devise How he might have her companye,

That so did 'maze his eyes. In thee, quoth he, doth rest my life; For surely thou shalt be my wife, Or else this hand with bloody knife The Gods shall sure suffice. Then from his bed he soon arose, And to his pallace gate he goes;

From heaven downe did hie;

He drew a dart and shot at him,

In place where he did lye:

Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,

And when he felt the arrow pricke,
Which in his tender heart did sticke,

He looketh as he would dye.
What sudden chance is this, quoth he,
That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defie?

Then from the window he did come,

And laid him on his bed, A thousand heapes of care did runne Within his troubled head: For now he meanes to crave her love, And now he seekes which way to proove

When she the king espies.

The Gods preserve your majesty,
The beggers all gan cry:
Vouchsafe to give your charity

Our childrens food to buy.
The king to them his pursse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
This silly woman was the last

That after them did hye.
The king he cal'd her back againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye:

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife, And honoured for my queene; With thee I meane to lead my life, As shortly shall be seene: