12 quotes
Of shapes transformde to bodies straunge, I purpose to entreate.
Metamorphosis (1567)
As Phoebus would have spoken more, away Penaeis stale
With fearefull steppes, and left him in the midst of all his tale.
Metamorphosis (1567)
"Well" (quoth Apollo) "though my Feere and spouse thou can not bee,
Assuredly from this tyme forth yet shalt thou be my tree."
Metamorphosis (1567)
With skill, heede, and judgment, this worke must be read,
For else to the Reader it standes in small stead.
Metamorphosis (1567)
The serpent Python so forswolne, whose filthie wombe did hide
So many acres of the grounde in which he did abide.
Metamorphosis (1567)
And in his armes embracing fast hir boughes and braunches lythe,
He proferde kisses to the tree, the tree did from him writhe.
Metamorphosis (1567)
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.
Metamorphosis (1567)
Peneian Daphne was the first where Phebus set his love,
Which not blind chaunce but Cupids fierce and cruel wrath did move.
Metamorphosis (1567)
The Lawrell to his just request did seeme to condescende,
By bowing of hir newe made boughs and tender braunches downe,
And wagging of hir seemely toppe, as if it were hir crowne.
Metamorphosis (1567)
There from hys quiver full of shafts two arrowes did he take
Of sundrie workes: t'one causeth Love, the tother doth it slake.
That causeth love, is all of golde with point full sharpe and bright,
That chaseth love is blunt, whose stele with leaden head is dight.
Metamorphosis (1567)
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.
Metamorphosis (1567)
In woods and forrests is hir joy, the savage beasts to chase,
And as the price of all hir paine to take the skinne and case.
Unwedded Phebe doth she haunt and follow as hir guide,
Unordred doe hir tresses wave scarce in a fillet tide.
Full many a wooer sought hir love, she lothing all the rout,
Impacient and without a man walkes all the woods about.
Metamorphosis (1567)