Dorilus. To swerue vp one of Cynthias_ beames, 90
      And there to bath thee in the streames. 
      Discouerd in the Moone._

        Doron. Come frolick Youth and follow me,
      My frantique boy, and Ile show thee
      The Countrey of the Fayries.

        Dorilus. The fleshy Mandrake where’t doth grow
      In noonshade of the Mistletow,
      And where the Phoenix Aryes.

        Doron. Nay more, the Swallowes winter bed,
      The Caverns where the Winds are bred, 100
      Since thus thou talkst of showing.

        Dorilus. And to those Indraughts Ile thee bring,
      That wondrous and eternall spring
      Whence th’ Ocean hath its flowing.

        Doron. We’ll downe to the darke house of sleepe,
      Where snoring Morpheus_ doth keepe,
      And wake the drowsy Groome._

        Dorilus. Downe shall the Dores and Windowes goe,
      The Stooles vpon the Floare we’ll throw,
      And roare about the Roome. 110

    The Muses here commanded them to stay,
    Commending much the caridge of their Lay
    As greatly pleasd at this their madding Bout,
    To heare how brauely they had borne it out
    From first to the last, of which they were right glad,
    By this they found that Helicon still had
    That vertue it did anciently retaine
    When Orpheus Lynus and th’ Ascrean Swaine
    Tooke lusty Rowses, which hath made their Rimes,
    To last so long to all succeeding times. 120
    And now amongst this beauteous Beauie here,
    Two wanton Nimphes, though dainty ones they were,
    Naijs and Cloe in their female fits
    Longing to show the sharpnesse of their wits,
    Of the nine Sisters speciall leaue doe craue
    That the next Bout they two might freely haue,
    Who hauing got the suffrages of all,
    Thus to their Rimeing instantly they fall.

        Naijs. Amongst you all let us see
      Who ist opposes mee, 130
      Come on the proudest she
      To answere my dittye.

        Cloe. Why Naijs_, that am I,
      Who dares thy pride defie. 
      And that we soone shall try
      Though thou be witty._

        Naijs.  Cloe I scorne my Rime
      Should obserue feet or time,
      Now I fall, then I clime,
      Where i’st I dare not. 140

        Cloe. Giue thy Invention wing,
      And let her flert and fling,
      Till downe the Rocks she ding,
      For that I care not.

        Naijs. This presence delights me,
      My freedome inuites me,
      The Season excytes me,
      In Rime to be merry.