"As Phœbus would have spoken more, away Penæis stale With fearefull steppes, and left him in the midst of all his tale. And as she ran the meeting windes hir garments backewarde blue, So that hir naked skinne apearde behinde hir as she flue, Hir goodly yellowe golden haire that hangèd loose and slacke, With every puffe of ayre did wave and tosse behinde hir backe. Hir running made hir seeme more fayre, the youthfull God therefore Coulde not abyde to waste his wordes in dalyance any more. But as his love advysèd him he gan to mende his pace, And with the better foote before, the fleeing Nymph to chace. And even as when the greedie Grewnde doth course the sielie Hare, Amiddes the plaine and champion fielde without all covert bare, Both twaine of them doe straine themselves and lay on footemanship, Who may best runne with all his force the tother to outstrip, The t’one for safetie of his lyfe, the tother for his pray, The Grewnde aye prest with open mouth to beare the Hare away, Thrusts forth his snoute and gyrdeth out and at hir loynes doth snatch, As though he would at everie stride betweene his teeth hir latch: Againe in doubt of being caught the Hare aye shrinking slips Upon the sodaine from his Jawes, and from betweene his lips: So farde Apollo and the Mayde: hope made Apollo swift, And feare did make the Mayden fleete devising how to shift."