Vain, sinful art! who first did fit Thy lewd loathed @3motions@1 unto @3sounds@1, And made grave @3music@1 like wild @3wit@1 Err in loose airs beyond her bounds? What fires hath he heaped on his head? Since to his sins (as needs it must) His @3art@1 adds still (though he be dead) New fresh accounts of blood and lust. Leave then young sorceress; the @3ice@1 Will those coy spirits cast asleep, Which teach thee now to please his eyes Who doth thy loathsome mother keep. But thou hast pleased so well, he swears, And gratifies thy sin with vows: His shameless lust in public wears, And to thy soft arts strongly bows. @3Skilful enchantress@1 and true bred! Who out of evil can bring forth good? Thy mother's nets in thee were spread, She tempts to @3incest@1, thou to @3blood@1. |