XII

The doubtfull Damzell dare not yet commit 100
  Her single person to their barbarous truth;[*]
  But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sit,
  Late learnd[*] what harme to hasty trust ensu’th: 
  They in compassion of her tender youth,
  And wonder of her beautie soveraine, 105
  Are wonne with pitty and unwonted ruth,
  And all prostrate upon the lowly plaine,
Do kisse her feete, and fawne on her with count’nance faine.

XIII

Their harts she ghesseth by their humble guise,
  And yieldes her to extremitie of time; 110
  So from the ground she fearlesse doth arise,
  And walketh forth without suspect of crime:[*]
  They all as glad, as birdes of joyous Prime,
  Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing round,
  Shouting, and singing all a shepheards ryme, 115
  And with greene braunches strowing all the ground,
Do worship her, as Queene, with olive[*] girlond cround.

XIV

And all the way their merry pipes they sound,
  That all the woods with doubled Eccho ring,
  And with their horned feet[*] do weare the ground, 120
  Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring. 
  So towards old Sylvanus they her bring;
  Who with the noyse awaked commeth out
  To weet the cause, his weake steps governing,
  And aged limbs on Cypresse stadle stout; 125
And with an yvie twyne his wast is girt about.

XV

Far off he wonders, what them makes so glad,
  Or Bacchus merry fruit[*] they did invent,
  Or Cybeles franticke rites[*] have made them mad,
  They drawing nigh, unto their God present 130
  That flowre of faith and beautie excellent. 
  The God himselfe, vewing that mirrhour rare,[*]
  Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent;
  His owne faire Dryope[*] now he thinkes not faire,
And Pholoe fowle when her to this he doth compaire. 135

XVI

The woodborne people fall before her flat,
  And worship her as Goddesse of the wood;
  And old Sylvanus selfe bethinkes not, what
  To thinke of wight so faire, but gazing stood,
  In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood; 140
  Sometimes Dame Venus selfe he seemes to see,
  But Venus never had so sober mood;
  Sometimes Diana he her takes to bee,
But misseth bow, and shaftes, and buskins to her knee.

XVII

By vew of her he ginneth to revive 145
  His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse,[*]
  And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive,
  How faire he was, and yet not faire to this,[*]
  And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse
  A gentle Hynd, the which the lovely boy 150
  Did love as life, above all worldly blisse;
  For griefe whereof the lad n’ould after joy,[*]
But pynd away in anguish and selfe-wild annoy.[*]