Yet thould it be a pleafant tale to tell The diverfe ufage and demeanure daint, That each to Other made, as oft befell, For Amoret right fearful was and faint, Left the with cblame her honour thould attaint,' That every word did tremble as the fpake, And every look was coy, and wondrous quaint, And every limb that touched her did quake: Yet could the not but courteous count' nance to her make.