And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace:
But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind,[°]
And henceforth nothing faire but her on earth they find.
XIX
Glad of such lucke, the luckelesse[°] lucky maid,
Did her content to please their feeble eyes,
And long time with that salvage people staid,
To gather breath in many miseries.
During which time her gentle wit she plyes,