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A HYMNE TO APOLLO.
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And manie a Temple; all wayes, men ordeinTo thy bright God-head: Groues, made darke with Trees,And neuer shorne, to hide ye Deities.All high-lou'd Prospects; all the steepest browesOf farr-seene Hills: and euery flood that flowesForth to the sea; are dedicate to Thee.But most of all; thy mindes AlacritieIs rais'd with Delos; since to fill thy PhaneThere flocks so manie an Ionian,With ample Gownes, that flowe downe to their feet:With all their children; and the reuerend SweetOf all their pious wiues. And these are theyThat (mindefull of thee) euen thy DeitieRender more spritelie, with their Champion fightDances, and songs, perform'd to glorious sight;Once hauing publisht, and proclaim'd their strife.And these are acted with such exquisite lifeThat one would say, Now, the Ionian strainesAre turn'd Immortalls; nor know what Age meanes.His minde would take such pleasure from his eye,To see them seru'd, by all Mortalitie.Their men so humane; women so well-grac't;Their ships so swift; their riches so encreast,Since thy obseruance. Who (being all, beforeThy opposites) were all despis'd, and poore.And to all these, this absolute wonder add,Whose praise shall render all posterities gladd:The Delian Virgines, are thy handmaides, All;
