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Or tune the accent of thy harmless lays
Unto the murmur of the gentle brook,
Whiles round about thy greedy eye doth look,
Or, wouldst thou music to delight thine ear,
Step but aside unto the neighbour spring, Thou shalt a thousand wing'd musicians hear,
Each praising in his kind the heavenly king.
Here Philomel doth her shrill treble sing;
Nor princes' richest arras may compare
While thousand colours in a night are blown :
Here's a light crimson, there a deeper one, A maiden's blush, here purples, there a white, Then all commingled for our more delight.
Withal, as in some rare limn'a book, we find
Here painted lectures of God's sacred will: The daisy teacheth lowliness of mind,
The camomile, we should be patient still,
The rue, our hate of vice's poison ill,
Yet, love the city, as the kindly nurse
Of all good arts, and fair civility; Where, though with good be intermixt the worse,
That most disturb our sweet tranquillity,
Content thyself, till thine ability
The Author's Conclusion.
[From 23 stanzas.] As then the sky was calm and fair,
The winds did cease, and clouds were fled, Aurora scatter'd Phæbus' hair,
New risen from her rosy bed :
Both mead and mountain with her flowers, While Zephyr sweetest odours threw
About the fields and leavy bowers.
1« Flora, sometime a famous harlot in Rome, and after « goddess of flowers.”
The woods and waters left their sound,
No tenderest twig was seen to move; The beast lay couched on the ground,
The winged people perch'd above; Save Philomel, who did renew
Her wonted plaints unto the Morn, That seem'd indeed her state to rue
By shedding tears upon the thorn.
When I, as other, taking rest
Was show'd, methought, a goodly plain, With all the store of Nature blest,
And situate within the main ; With rocks about environ'd quite,
But inward round in rows there stood, As well for profit as delight,
The trees of orchard and the wood.
The builder acorn, long ago
To Dodonæan Jove adjoin'd;
That winged flies before the wind;
Nor wanting was, nor that same tree?
Of Thisbe's woful tragedy.
Th' unblasted bay, to conquests due,
The Persian peach, and fruitful quince, And there the forward almond grew,
With cherries,' known no long time since; The winter-warden, orchard's pride,
The philibert, that loves the vale, And red queen-apple, so envied
Of schoolboys passing by the pale.
Within there was a circlet round,
That rais’d itself, of softest grass ;
Or emerald greener ever was.
(Not Paphos' queen so fair a wight,) For roses by did blush for shame,
To see a purer red and white.
In robe of woven silver fine,
And deepest crimson she was clad;
1“ Erasmusaffirmeth cherries to have been known to " these parts of Europe little above two or three hundred
years, being first brought from Cerasuntis, a city of Pontus, whence they have their name.”.
2“ The filbert, so pamed of Philibert, a king of France, for who caused by art ndry kinds to be brought forth.”
Then, diaper'd with golden twine,
she had, Wherein were wrought, with rarest skill,
Fair cities, castles, rivers, woods, And here and there emboss'd a hill,
With fountains, and the Nymphs of floods.
A massy collar, set with stones,
Did over all itself extend,
Saint George, her patron, did depend.
One hand a bright drawn sword did hold; The other (most that made her dread)
Three sceptres of the finest gold.
While proudly under foot she trod
Rich trophies and victorious spoils, Atchieved by her might abroad,
Her name is EMPRESS OF THE ILES,
From Cæsar, ere she was betray'd,
She lent the Holy land her aid.
many, a shiver'd lance,