He shall inspire my verse with gentle mood, Of poets prince, whether he woon* beside Faire Xanthus sprincled with Chimaeras blood, Or in the woods of Astery abide, 20 Or whereas Mount Parnasse, the Muses brood, Doth his broad forhead like two hornes divide, And the sweete waves of sounding Castaly With liquid foote doth slide downe easily.

Report is that Dame Venus on a day, In spring when flowres doo clothe the fruitful ground, Walking abroad with all her nymphes to play, 115 Bad her faire damzels flocking her arownd To gather flowres, her forhead to array.