[_Exeunt Charites_.
_Ap_. I thanke ye, gentle Ladies, for your paine.--
O _Phoebus_, wretched thou, thus art thou faine
With forg'de excuses to conceale thy paine.
O, _Hyacinth_, I suffer not these fits
For thee, my Boy; no, no, another sits
Deeper then thou in closet of my brest,
Whose sight so late hath wrought me this unrest.
And yet no Goddesse nor of heauenly kinde
She is, whose beautie thus torments my minde;
No Fayrie Nymph that haunts these pleasaunt woods,
No Goddesse of the flowres, the fields, nor floods:
Yet such an one whom iustly I may call
A Nymph as well as any of them all.
_Eurymine_, what heauen affoords thee heere?
So may I say, because thou com'st so neere,
And neerer far vnto a heauenly shape
Than she of whom _Ioue_ triumph't in the Rape.
Ile sit me downe and wake my griefe againe
To sing a while in honour of thy name.