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 trush 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 Phoebus' hair,

New risen from her rosy bed:

I

At whose approach the harlot strew

Both mead and mountain with her flowers,

While Zephyr sweetest odours threw

About the fields and leavy bowers.

"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 1 That bears the stain in fruit and seeds Of Thisbe's woful tragedy.

*

"The mulberry."

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,

2

The philibert, that loves the vale, And red queen-apple, so envìed

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;

1 "Erasmus-affirmeth cherries to have been known to "these parts of Europe little above two or three hundred 66 years, being first brought from Cerasuntis, a city of Pontus, whence they have their name.”

66

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

Then, diaper'd with golden twine,
Aloft a mantle green 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,

Whereon, in sparkling diamonds,

Saint George, her patron, did depend.

A crown imperial on her head;

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, There chariots were, that once she wan From Cæsar, ere she was betray'd, With standards, got from Pagans whan She lent the Holy land her aid.

Here saw I many a shiver'd lance,

Swords, battle-axes, cannons, slings;