"And in her hand a sharpe bore-speare she held, And at her backe a bow and quiver gay, Stuft with steel-headed dartes wherewith she queld The salvage beastes in her victorious play, Knit with a golden bauldricke which forelay Athwart her snowy brest, and did divide Her daintie paps; which, like young fruit in May, Now little gan to swell, and being tide Through her thin weed their places only signifide. "Her yellow lockes, crisped like golden wyre, About her shoulders weren loosely shed, And, when the winde emongst them did inspyre, They waved like a penon wyde dispred And low behinde her backe were scattered: And, whether art it were or heedlesse hap, As through the flouring forrest rash she fled, In her rude heares sweet flowres themselves did lap, And flourishing fresh leaves and blossomes did enwrap."[361] "The daintie rose, the daughter of her morne, More deare than life she tendered, whose flowre The girlond of her honour did adorne; Ne suffered she the middayes scorching powre. Ne the sharp northerne wind thereon to showre; But lapped up her silken leaves most chayre, Whenso the froward skye began to lowre; But, soone as calmed was the cristall ayre, She did it fayre dispred, and let to flourish fayre."[362] He is on his knees before her, I repeat, as a child on Corpus Christi day, among flowers and perfumes, transported with admiration, so that he sees a heavenly light in her eyes, and angel's tints on her cheeks, even impressing into her service Christian angels and pagan graces to adorn and await upon her; it is love which brings such visions before him: "Sweet love, that doth his golden wings embay In blessed nectar and pure pleasures well." Whence this perfect beauty, this modest and charming dawn, in which he assembles all the brightness, all the sweetness, all the virgin graces of the full morning? What mother begat her, what marvellous birth brought to light such a wonder of grace and purity? One day, in a sparkling, solitary fountain, where the sunbeams shone, Chrysogone was bathing with roses and violets. "It was upon a sommers shinie day, When Titan faire his beamës did display, In a fresh fountaine, far from all mens vew, She bath'd her brest the boyling heat t' allay; She bath'd with roses red and violets blew, And all the sweetest flowers that in the forrest grew. Till faint through yrkesome wearines adowne Upon the grassy ground herselfe she layd To sleepe, the whiles a gentle slombring swowne Upon her fell all naked bare displayd."[363] The beams played upon her body, and "fructified" her. The months rolled on. Troubled and ashamed, she went into the "wildernesse," and sat down, "every sence with sorrow sore opprest." Meanwhile Venus, searching for her boy Cupid, who had mutinied and fled from her, "wandered in the world." She had sought him in courts, cities, cottages, promising "kisses sweet, and sweeter things, unto the man that of him tydings to her brings."