Canto Secundo.

WHat faire pompe haue I spide of glittering Ladies,
With locks sparckled abroad, and rosie Coronet
On their yuorie browes, trackt to the daintie thies
VVith roabs like Amazons, blew as Violet:
VVith gold Aglets adornd, some in a changeable
Pale, with spangs wauering taught to be moueable.

Then those Knights that a farre off with dolorous viewing,
Cast their eyes hetherward: loe in an agonie
All vnbrac'd, crie aloud, their heauie state ruing;
Moyst cheekes with blubbering painted as Ebonie
Blacke, their feltred haire torne with wrathfull hand,
And whiles astonied, starke in a maze they stand.

But hearke what merry sound; what sodaine harmonie
Looke, looke neere the groue where the Ladies doe tread
VVith their knights the measures waide by the melodie,
VVantons whose trauesing make men enamoured,
Now they faine an honor, now by the slender wast
He must lift hir aloft, and seale a kisse in hast.

Streight downe vnder a shadow for wearines they lie,
VVith pleasant daliance, hand knit with arme in arme,
Now close, now set aloof they gaze with an equall eie,
Changing kisses alike, streight with a false alarme,
Mocking kisses alike, powt with a louely lip,
Thus drownd with iollities, their merry daies doe slip.

But stay now I discerne they goe on a Pilgrimage:
Toward Loues holy land faire Paphos or Cyprus,
Such deuotion is meete for a blithesome age,
With sweet youth it agrees well to be amorous,
Let olde angrie fathers lurke in an Hermitage,
Come weele associate this iollie Pilgrimage.