GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi1103.phi001.lascivaroma-eng1:45.2-46.7 urn:cts:latinLit:phi1103.phi001.lascivaroma-eng1:45.2-46.7

Whenas a maiden chance me in the middle to kiss?Here none augur we: need: believe my word she is saying -'Let the rude spear in me work with its natural wont!'

Whenas the Rigid God espied a wightCrisping his head with curling-tongs aglowThat he be likest to a Moorish maid,'Ho thou! (cried he) we tell thee, catamite;However much thou toast and curl thyselfIs then a damsel more of worth, I ask,Than are the hairy honours of thy yard?'