_All haile, faire Phoebus, in thy purple throne!
Vouchsafe the regarding of our deep mone;
Hide not, oh hide not, thy comfortable face,
But pittie, but pittie, a virgins poore case_.
_Phoebus appeares_.
1 _Mu_. Illustrate bewtie, Chrystall heavens eye,
Once more we do entreat thy clemencie
That, as thou art the power of us all,
Thou wouldst redeeme _Eurymine_ from thrall.
Graunt, gentle God, graunt this our small request,
And, if abilitie in us do rest,
Whereby we ever may deserve the same,
It shall be seene we reverence _Phoebus_ name.
_Phoe_. You sacred sisters of faire Helli[c]on,
On whom my favours evermore have shone,
In this you must have patience with my vow:
I cannot graunt what you aspire unto,
Nor wast my fault she was transformed so,
But her own fond desire, as ye well know.
We told her, too, before her vow was past
That cold repentance would ensue at last;
And, sith herselfe did wish the shape of man,
She causde the abuse, digest it how she can.
2 _Mu_. Alas, if unto her you be so hard,
Yet of _Ascanio_ have some more regard,
And let him not endure such endlesse wrong
That hath pursude her constant love so long.
_Asca_. Great God, the greevous travells I have past
In restlesse search to finde her out at last;
My plaints, my toiles, in lieu of my annoy
Have well deserv'd my Lady to enjoy.
Penance too much I have sustaind before;
Oh _Phoebus_, plague me not with any more,
Nor be thou so extreame now at the worst
To make my torments greater than at the first.
My father's late displeasure is forgot,
And there's no let nor any churlish blot
To interrupt our ioyes from being compleat,
But only thy good favour to intreat.
In thy great grace it lyes to make my state
Most happie now or most infortunate.
1 _Mu_. Heavenly _Apollo_, on our knees I pray
Vouchsafe thy great displeasure to allay.
What honor to thy Godhead will arise
To plague a silly Lady in this wise?
Beside it is a staine unto thy Deitie
To yeeld thine owne desires the soveraigntie:
Then shew some grace vnto a wofull Dame,
And in these groves our tongues shall sound thy fame.
_Phoe_. Arise, deare Nourses of divinest skill,
You sacred Muses of _Pernassus_ hill;
_Phoebus_ is conquerd by your deare respect
And will no longer clemency neglect.
You have not sude nor praide to me in vaine;
I graunt your willes: she is a mayde againe.
_Asca_. Thy praise shal never die whilst I do live.