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Poore Love in chaines, and fetters like a thiefe
I mett ledd forth, as chast Diana's gaine
Vowing the untaught Lad should no reliefe
From her receive, who gloried in fond paine.
She call'd him theife; with vowes he did mainetaine
He never stole, but some sadd slight of griefe
Had given to those who did his power disdaine,
In which revenge, his honour was the chiefe.
Shee say'd he murther'd and therefor must dye,
He that he caus'd but Love, did harmes deny,
But, while she thus discoursing with him stood;
The Nymphes unti'de him, and his chaines tooke off,
Thinking him safe; but he (loose) made a scoffe,
Smiling and scorning them; flew to the wood.