When he but toucht his harpe; that on the floods
Had power above theire regent (the pale Moone)
To make them tourne or stay their violent course
When he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds,
Neare had abyllitie with all his arte
To matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce.
And were I on the axeltree of heaven
To note the Zodiaks anuall chaunge and course,
The Sunns bryghte progresse and the planetts motyons,
To play with Luna or newe lampe the starres,
To note Orion or the Pleiades,
Or with the sunne guyld the Antipodes,--
Yet all the glorye, in exchaunge for thee,
Would be my torment and heavens crueltye.

_Bus_. Was ere man thus orejoyd with mans own curse!

_Enter Reinaldo_.

_Char_. Thou only arte happynes.

_Rei_. Not, greate Lord, for I
Bringe newes that doth include--

_Char_. Cossan, your blame,
And tys a dylligence of too muche pryde
That interrupts myne admyratyon.

_Rei_. My newse when knowne will raze out that beleife
And be as wellcome as a gentyll callme