No More Learning

=2. 6. 53 A strange woman. = In _Bart. Fair_, _Wks. _ 4. 395,
Justice Overdo says: 'Rescue this youth here out of the hands
of the lewd man and _the strange woman_. ' Gifford explains in a
note: 'The scripture phrase for an immodest woman, a prostitute.
Indeed this acceptation of the word is familiar to many
languages. It is found in the Greek; and we have in Terence--pro
_uxore habere hanc_ peregrinam: upon which Donatus remarks, _hoc
nomine etiam_ meretrices _nominabantur_. '

=2. 6. 57-113 WIT. No, my tune-full Mistresse? = etc.
This very important passage is the basis of Fleay's theory of
identification discussed in section D. IV. of the Introduction.
The chief passages necessary for comparison are quoted below.


A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS:

In Ten Lyric Pieces.

V.

His Discourse with Cupid.

Noblest Charis, you that are
Both my fortune and my star,
And do govern more my blood,
Than the various moon the flood,
Hear, what late discourse of you, 5
Love and I have had; and true.
'Mongst my Muses finding me,
Where he chanced your name to see
Set, and to this softer strain;
Sure, said he, if I have brain, 10
This, here sung, can be no other,
By description, but my Mother!
So hath Homer praised her hair;
So Anacreon drawn the air
Of her face, and made to rise 15
Just about her sparkling eyes,
Both her brows bent like my bow.
By her looks I do her know,
Which you call my shafts. And see!
Such my Mother's blushes be, 20
As the bath your verse discloses
In her cheeks, of milk and roses;
Such as oft I wanton in:
And, above her even chin,
Have you placed the bank of kisses, 25
Where, you say, men gather blisses,
Ripen'd with a breath more sweet,
Than when flowers and west-winds meet.
Nay, her white and polish'd neck,
With the lace that doth it deck, 30
Is my mother's: hearts of slain
Lovers, made into a chain!
And between each rising breast,
Lies the valley call'd my nest,
Where I sit and proyne my wings 35
After flight; and put new stings
To my shafts: her very name
With my mother's is the same.
I confess all, I replied,
And the glass hangs by her side, 40
And the girdle 'bout her waist,
All is Venus, save unchaste.