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Section 423
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Perd.
Sir: my gracious Lord,
To chide at your extreames, it not becomes me:
(Oh pardon, that I name them:) your high selfe
The gracious marke o’th’Land, you haue obscur’d
With a Swaines wearing: and me (poore lowly Maide)
Most Goddesse‑like prank’d vp: But that our Feasts
In euery Messe, haue folly; and the Feeders
Digest with a Custome, I should blush
To see you so attyr’d: sworne I thinke,
To shew my selfe a glasse.