XCIX.

Dear one, a kiss I stole, while you did wanton a-playing, Sweet ambrosia, love, never as honily sweet.

Dearly the deed I paid for; an hour's long misery waning Ended, as I agoniz'd hung to the point of a cross, Hoping vain purgation; alas! no potion of any 5 Tears could abate that fair angriness, youthful as you.

Hardly the sin was in act, your lips did many a falling Drop dilute, which anon every finger away Cleansed apace, lest still my mouth's infection abiding Stain, like slaver abhorr'd breath'd from a foul fricatrice. 10

Add, that a booty to love in misery me to deliver You did spare not, a fell worker of all agonies, So that, again transmuted, a kiss ambrosia seeming Sugary, turn'd to the strange harshness of harsh hellebore.

Then such dolorous end since your poor lover awaiteth, 15 Never a kiss will I venture, a theft any more.