Englands Helicon Casta placent superis, pura cum veste venite, et manibus puris sumite fontis aquam.

¶Coridons Hymne in praise of Amarillis.

WOuld mine eyes were christall Fountaines, Where you might the shadow view Of my greefes, like to these mountaines Swelling for the losse of you. Cares which curelesse are alas, Helplesse, haplesse for they grow: Cares like tares in number passe, All the seedes that loue dooth sow. Who but could remember all Twinkling eyes still representing? Starres which pierce me to the gall, Cause they lend no more contenting. And you Nectar-lips, alluring Humane sence to tast of heauen: For no Art of mans manuring, Finer silke hath euer weauen. Who but could remember this, The sweete odours of your fauour?

When I smeld I was in blisse, Neuer felt I sweeter sauour. And your harmlesse hart annoynted, As the custome was of Kings: Shewes your sacred soule appoynted, To be prime of earthly things. Ending thus remember all, Cloathed in a mantle greene: Tis enough I am your thrall, Leaue to thinke what eye hath seene. Yet the eye may not so leaue, Though the thought doo still repine: But must gaze till death bequeath, Eyes and thoughts vnto her shrine. Which if Amarillis chaunce, Hearing to make hast to see: To life death she may aduance. Therefore eyes and thoughts goe free.

T. B.

FINIS.