148883For now
she knowes it is no gentle cha
se,
884But the blunt boare, rough beare, or lyon proud,
885Becau
se the crie remaineth in one place,
886Where fearefully the dogs exclaime aloud,
887 Finding their enemie to be
so cur
st,
888 They all
straine curt'
sie who
shall cope him
fir
st.
149889This di
small crie rings
sadly in her eare,
890Through which it enters to
surpri
se her hart,
891Who ouercome by doubt, and bloodle
sse feare,
892With cold-pale weakene
sse, nums ech feeling part,
893 Like
soldiers when their captain once doth yeeld,
894 They ba
sely
flie, and dare not
stay the
field.
150895Thus
stands
she in a trembling exta
sie,
896Till cheering vp her
sen
ses all di
smayd,
897She tels them tis a cau
sle
sse fanta
sie,
898And childi
sh error that they are a
ffrayd,
899 Bids thē leaue quaking, bids them feare no more,
900 And with that word,
she
spide the hunted boare.
151901Who
se frothie mouth bepainted all with red,
902Like milke, & blood, being mingled both togither,
903A
second feare through all her
sinewes
spred,
904Which madly hurries her,
she knowes not whither,
905 This way
she runs, and now
she will no further,
906 But backe retires, to rate the boare for murther.
A