Though
Daphne fly from Phoebus bright,
Yet shall they both be one,
And if you understand this right,
You have our hidden Stone.
For Daphne she is faire and white:
But Volatile is she;
Phoebus a fixed God of might,
And red as blood is he.
Daphne is a Water Nymph,
And hath of Moysture store,
Which Phoebus doth consume with heate,
And dryes her very sore.
They being dryed into one,
Of christall flood must drinke,
Till they be brought to a white Stone:
Which wash with Virgins milke,
So longe untill they flow as wax,
And no fume you can see,
Then have you all you neede to aske,
Praise God and thankfull be.