My Muse, what ailes this ardor? Mine eyes be dim, my limbs shake, My voice is hoarse, my throat scorch’d, My tongue to this my roof cleaves, My fancy amaz’d, my thoughts dull’d, My heart doth ake, my life faints, My soul begins to take leave. This being a wholly iambic measure does not appear so exotic as the sapphics. Indeed, the youthful experimenter achieved a noteworthy success in rhythmic effect by ending each line with a foot composed of one strong syllable. Most of the knowledge there was of Sappho in the Elizabethan and Jacobean times, however, seems to have been superficially based mainly on the Ovidian legend. Such a wonderful story told by such a wonderful story-teller interested the early classicists in England, and the Phaon myth permeated much literature. Ben Jonson (_Under-Woods_, No. 45) says: Did Sappho, on her seven-tongu’d lute, So speak (as yet it is not mute) Of Phaon’s form? Thomas Nashe in his novel, _The Unfortunate Traveller_ (1594), is a typical example: “Golde easily bends, the most ingenious minds are easiest moved, _Ingenium nobis molle Thalia dedit_, said _Psapho_ to _Phao_.” It is just possible that Robert Herrick (1591-1674), who published so many poems to or upon _Sapho_, the name of his own love, knew from Athenaeus the fragment (E. 62) “much whiter than an egg,” when he published in _Hesperides_, No. 350 (1648) the verses: Fain would I kiss my Julia’s dainty leg, Which is as white and hair-less as an egge.