Now he said, let’s goe, harke, the Hounds are crying, Grisly Boare is vp, Hunts-men follow fast: (105) At the name of Boare, Venus seemed dying, Deadly coloured pale, Roses ouer-cast. Speake said she, no more, (110) of following the Boare, thou vnfit for such a chase: Course the fearefull Hare, Venson doe not spare, if thou wilt yeeld Venus grace. (115) Shun the Boare I pray thee, Else I still will stay thee, herein he vow’d to please her mind, Then her armes enlarged, Loth she him discharged, (120) forth he went as swift as wind.
Thetis Phœbus Steedes in the West retained, Hunting sport was past, Loue her loue did seeke: (125) Sight of him too soone gentle Queene shee gained, On the ground he lay blood had left his cheeke. For an orped Swine, (130) smit him in the groyne,