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 From whome thou fleest. For if thou knew, thou wouldste not flee me so. In Delphos is my chiefe abode, my Temples also stande At Glaros and at Patara within the Lycian lande. And in the Ile of Tenedos the people honour mee. The king of Gods himselfe is knowne my father for to bee. By me is knowne that was, that is, and that that shall ensue, By mee men learne to sundrie tunes to frame sweete ditties true. In shooting have I stedfast hand, but surer hand had hee That made this wound within my heart that heretofore was free. Of Phisicke and of surgerie I found the Artes for neede, The powre of everie herbe and plant doth of my gift proceede. Nowe wo is me that nere an herbe can heale the hurt of love And that the Artes that others helpe their Lord doth helpelesse prove. As Phoebus would have spoken more, away Penaeis stale With fearefull steppes, and left him in the midst of all his tale. And as she ran the meeting windes hir garments backewarde blue, So that hir naked skinne apearde behinde hir as she flue, Hir goodly yellowe golden haire that hanged loose and slacke, With every puffe of ayre did wave and tosse behinde hir backe. Hir running made hir seeme more fayre, the youthfull God therefore Coulde not abyde to waste his wordes in dalyance any more. But as his love advysed him he gan to mende his pace, And with the better foote before, the fleeing Nymph to chace. And even as when the greedie Grewnde doth course the sielie Hare, Amiddes the plaine and champion fielde without all covert bare, Both twaine of them doe straine themselves and lay on footemanship, Who may best runne with all his force the tother to outstrip, The t'one for safetie of his lyfe, the tother for his pray, The Grewnde aye prest with open mouth to beare the Hare away, Thrusts forth his snoute and gyrdeth out and at hir loynes doth snatch, As though he would at everie stride betweene his teeth hir latch: Againe in doubt of being caught the Hare aye shrinking slips Upon the sodaine from his Jawes, and from betweene his lips: So farde Apollo and the Mayde: hope made Apollo swift, And feare did make the Mayden fleete devising how to shift. Howebeit he that did pursue of both the swifter went, As furthred by the feathred wings that Cupid had him lent,