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Python, for thee the ground was barren still,
Denying her increase, and wonted fruite,
For thee, the learned Bee did aie lament,
That she could not her sweetest worke salute:
For thee, the gentle Ewe her selfe did kill,
For griefe to see her lambe in peeces rent:
For thee out of his tent
The Shepherd durst not goe,
For cleerely he did knowe,
How much thy poysoned tooth and breath did harme:
For thee the husbandman within his Farme,
And Citizens within their wals, for feare
(Did in their Cities swarme)
Of euerie shadow thinking thou wert there.
What God deserues all the heauenly Quire
Incense in sacrifice as doth Apollo?
And what God by his skill and cunning art,
As many as the firmament so hollow
Containes, to such great titles doth aspire
With honours type, renown’d in euerie part?
For nature doth impart
Her gifts, and euerie grace
To me, their proper place.
I did inuent the art of medicine,
If any one like prophet doth diuine,
I am the God, that answers and inspires,
My musicke passing fine
Doth answer that the heauens make in their gires.
A famous Sirname I shall now obtaine,
O Serpent Python by thy mortall death:
And I will cause, that they shall celebrate
This libertie in neuer dying breath.
With solemne sports and feasting to maintaine
This glorie, in eternall time and state.
And that this golden date
In historie by fame,
That streight doth blaze the same,
And sparing such, as alwaies we do see,
Neuer in this may such a niggard be.
And though of others she doth prate too much,
And speaketh partially,
Not any lye herein, her toong shall touch.
He therefore being in this sort content,
By chaunce (and yet it may be to requite.
The gen’rall scorne he made of all the Gods)
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