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Faire Cytheree, the mother of delight
And queene of beautie, now thou maist go pack;
For lo! thy kingdoms is defaced quight,
Thy scepter rent, and power put to wrack; 400
And thy gay sonne, that winged God of Love,
May now goe prune his plumes like ruffed* dove.
[* _Ruffed_, ruffled.]
And ye three twins, to light by Venus brought,
The sweete companions of the Muses late,
From whom whatever thing is goodly thought 405
Doth borrow grace, the fancie to aggrate*,
Go beg with us, and be companions still,
As heretofore of good, so now of ill.
[* _Aggrate_, please.]
For neither you nor we shall anie more
Finde entertainment or in court or schoole: 410
For that which was accounted heretofore
The learneds meed is now lent to the foole;
He sings of love and maketh loving layes,
And they him heare, and they him highly prayse.
With that she powred foorth a brackish flood 415
Of bitter teares, and made exceeding mone;
And all her sisters, seeing her sad mood,
With lowd laments her answered all at one.
So ended she: and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.


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