Ye sacred Fyres, and powers aboue, Forge of desires working loue, Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye Vpon a Mayde in miserie. My sacrifice is louers blood : And from eyes salt teares a flood : All which I spend, all which I spend For thee Ascanio, my deare friend : And though this houre I must feele The bitter sower of pricking steele, Yet ill or well, yet ill or well To thee Ascanio still farewell