Idea the shepheards garland Fashioned in nine eglogs. Rowlands sacrifice to the nine Muses.

Pirken.

Be blith good Rowland then, and cleere thine eyes: And now sith Robin to his roost is gone, Good Rowland then supplie the place alone, and shew thy arte.

O thou fayre siluer Thames: ô cleerest chrystall flood, Beta alone the Phenix is, of all thy watery brood, The Queene of Uirgins onely she: And thou the Queene of floods shalt be: Let all thy Nymphes be ioyfull then to see this happy day, Thy Beta now alone shalbe the subiect of my laye.

VVith daintie and delight some straines of sweetest virelayes: Come louely shepheards sit we down & chant our Betas prayse: And let vs sing: so rare a verse, Our Betas prayses to reheaerse That little Birds shall silent be, to heare poore shepheards sing, And riuers backward bend their course, & flow vnto the spring.

Range all thy swannes faire Thames together on a rancke, And place them duely one by one, vpon thy stately banck, Then set together all a good, Recording to the siluer stood, And craue the tunefull Nightingale to helpe you with her lay, The Osel & the Throstlecocke, chiefe musick of our maye.

O see what troups of Nimphs been sporting on the strands, And they been blessed Nimphs of peace, with Oliues in their How meryly the Muses sing, (hands. That all the flowry Medowesring, And Beta sits vpon the banck, in purple and in pall, And she the Queene of Muses is, and weares the Corinall.

Trim vp her Golden tresses with Apollos sacred tree, ô happy sight vnto all those that loue and honor thee, The Blessed Angels haue prepar'd, A glorious Crowne for thy reward, Not such a golden Crowne as haughtie Caesar weares, But such a glittering starry Crowne as Ariadne beares.

Make her a goodly Chapilet of azur'd Colombine, And wreath about her Coronet with sweetest Eglentine: Bedeck our Beta all with Lillies, And the dayntie Daffadillies, VVith Roses damask, white, and red, and fairest flower delice, VVith Cowslips of Jerusalem, and cloues of Paradice.

O thou fayre torch of heauen, the dayes most deerest light, And thou bright-shyning Cinthya, the glory of the night: You starres the eyes of heauen, And thou the glyding leuen, And thou ô gorgeous Iris with all strange Colours dyed, VVhen she streams foorth her rayes, then dasht is all your pride.

See how the day stands still, admiring of her face, And time loe stretcheth foorth her armes, thy Beta to imbrace, The Syrens sing sweete layes, The Trytons sound her prayse, Goe passe on Thames and hie thee fast vnto the Ocean sea, And let thy billowes there proclaime thy Betas holy-day.

And water thou the blessed roote of that greene Oliue tree, VVith whose sweete shadow, al thy bancks with peace preserued Lawrell for Poets and Conquerours, (be, And mirtle for Loues Paramours: That fame may be thy fruit, the boughes preseru'd by peace, And let the mournfist Cipres die, now stormes & tempests cease.

VVee'l straw the shore with pearle where Beta walks alone, And we wil paue her princely Bower with richest Indian stone, Perfume the ayre and make it sweete, For such a Goddesse it is meete, For if her eyes for purity contend with Tytans light, No maruaile then although they so doe dazell humaine sight.

Sound out your trumpets then, from Londons stately towres, To beat the stormie windes a back & calme the raging showres, Set too the Cornet and the flute, The Orpharyon and the Lute, And tune the Taber and the pipe, to the sweet violons, And moue the thunder in the ayre, with lowdest Clarions.

Beta long may thine Altars smoke, with yeerely sacrifice, And long thy sacred Temples may their Saboths solemnize, Thy shepheards watch by day and night, Thy Mayds attend the holy light, And thy large empyre stretch her armes from east vnto the west, And thou vnder thy feet mayst tread, that soule seuen-headed beast.