Anne Cecil

"Had with mooming the gods left their willes undon, They had not so soone herited such a soule: Or if the mouth Tyme did not glotten up all, Nor I, nor the world, were depriv'd of my sonne. Whose brest Venus, with a face dolefull and milde, Dooth wash with golden teares, inveying the skies; And when the water of the goddesses eyes Makes almost alive the marble of my childe; One byds her leave styll her dollor so extreme, Telling her — it is not her young sonne Papheme! To which she makes aunswer with a voice inflamed (Feeling therewith her venime to be more bitter) "As I was of Cupid, even so of it, mother; And a woman's last chylde is the most beloved.""