Xliii

Not so (quoth she) but sith that heavens king From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quight, Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing; And fearest not, that more thee hurten might, Now in the powre of everlasting Night? Goe to then, O thou farre renowmed sonne Of great Apollo, shew thy famous might In medicine, that else hath to thee wonne Great paines, and greater praise,° both never to be donne.