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What Nymph might yonder be,
So fine with her dishieueled haire,
That in this forrest hunteth all alone?
I will goe neere to see,
If that she be indeed so faire,
As she doth seeme. Ah (Godheades) there is none
In all your heauenly throne,
No Goddesse, nor no power diuine,
With beautie, and good grace,
That nature doth imbrace,
Then this, in whom most cleerely shine
Her giftes, and chiefest art,
As many as to all she did impart.
But Cupid seeing her in such estate,
Thought it high time to punish the contempt,
And brauing words, that proud Apollo vs’d.
And now to be reuenged on his head
With more dishonor and with greater shame,
He did prepare him to assaile his foe
With those same weapons, that were threatned him:
So, with his headed shaft of beaten gold
He smot his brest, and pass’d his carelesse hart;
Omitting not to wound faire Daphnes to
With that of hate, headed with heauie lead.
And so with this the Boy remayned glad,
And well did see, though blind what he had done.
And thus content in minde, he did depart,
Vpon some others to imploy his might.
O blinded Boy, of strong and mightie force,
Where none is found but onely in thy hands,
That more the one with feruent loue doth burne,
The more the other freezeth with disdaine.
And proud Apollo now thou shalt perceiue,
(That think’st no equall God to thee in heauen,
Nor celebrated in the earth beaneth
With such like honours, which thou claym’st alone)
That there is one that raignes in heauen and earth,
In hell, and euerie corner of the world,
More puissant then any other God.
Bicause thou art inuentor of the skill
Of phisicke, and of musickes sweetest art;
Bicause (besides) thou tell’st with secret power,
Things that are past, and present, and to come,
Thou think’st thou raign’st alone as Soueraigne.
Now art thou subiect to a sillie maide,
Too base if she be paragon’d to thee:
And yet this greeues him not, but that the more
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