148883For now she knowes it is no gentle chase,

884But the blunt boare, rough beare, or lyon proud,

885Because the crie remaineth in one place,

886Where fearefully the dogs exclaime aloud,

887 Finding their enemie to be so curst,

888 They all straine curt'sie who shall cope him first.

149889This dismall crie rings sadly in her eare,

890Through which it enters to surprise her hart,

891Who ouercome by doubt, and bloodlesse feare,

892With cold-pale weakenesse, nums ech feeling part,

893 Like soldiers when their captain once doth yeeld,

894 They basely flie, and dare not stay the field.

150895Thus stands she in a trembling extasie,

896Till cheering vp her senses all dismayd,

897She tels them tis a causlesse fantasie,

898And childish error that they are affrayd,

899 Bids thē leaue quaking, bids them feare no more,

900 And with that word, she spide the hunted boare.

151901Whose 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.