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For who's he, that's not ravish'd with delight,

Far countries, courts, and cities strange to see ? To have old Rome presented to his sight,

'Troy walls, or Virgil's sweet Parthenope ? Yet nothing worth, unless ye herewith find The fruits of skill, and bettering of your mind.

Rura mihi et Silentium.

(From 11 stanzas.] Wert thou thy life at liberty to choose,

And, as thy birth, so, hadst thy being free, The city thou should'st bid adieu, my Muse,

And from her streets, as her infection flee ;

Where chaos and confusion we see
As well of language as of differing hearts,
A body sever'd in a thousand parts.

Thy solitary Academe should be

Some shady grove upon the Thames' fair side ; Such as we may near princely Richmond see,

Or where along doth silver Severn slide,

Or Avon courts fair Flora in her pride. There shouldst thou sit at long-desired rest, And think thyself above a monarch blest.

There might'st thou sing thy sweet Creator's praise,

And turn at quiet o'er some holy book,

Or tune the accent of thy harmless lays

Unto the murmur of the gentle brook, Whiles round about thy greedy eye doth look, Observing wonders in some flower by, This bent, that leaf, this worm, that butterfly.

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 ; The thrush a tenor; off a little space, Some mateless dove doth murmur out the base.

Nor princes' richest arras may compare
With some small spot where Nature's skill is

shown,
Perfuming sweetly all the neighbour air,

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'd 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, The woodbine, that we should our friendship

hold, Our hope the savory in the bitterest cold.

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
And better hap shall answer thy desire.
But, Muse, beware, lest we too high aspire.

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 :
At whose approach the harlot' strew

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; And there the lofty pine did grow,

That winged flies before the wind; Leucothoe, that wounded bleeds,

Nor wanting was, nor that same tree' That bears the stain in fruit and seeds

Of Thisbe's woful tragedy.

16. The mulberry.”

Th' unblasted bay, to conquests due,

The Persian peach, and fruitful quince, And there the forward almond grew,

With cherries, ' known vo long time silice ; The winter-warden, orcbard'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 ;
No velvet smoother spread on ground,

Or emerald greener ever was.
In midst there sat a beauteous dame,

(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; . 5Erasmus-affirmeth 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."

96 The filbert, so named of Philibert, a king of France, “I who caused by art sundry kinds to be brought forth.”

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