Xviii

The wooddy Nymphes, faire Hamadryades,° Her to behold do thither runne apace, And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades° Flocke all about to see her lovely face: But when they vewed have her heavenly grace, They envy her in their malitious mind, And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace: But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind,° And henceforth nothing faire but her on earth they find.