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BLOOMEFIELDS BLOSSOMS: OR, The Campe of PHILOSOPHY.
WHen Phoebus was entred the signe of the Ramme,
In the Moneth of March when all things do spring;
Lying in my bed an old Man to me came,
Laying his hand on my buisy head flumbering;
I am, said he, Tyme, The Producer of all thing:
Awake and rise, prepaire thy selfe quickly,
My intent is to bring thee to the Campe of Philosophy.
Bloomes and Blossomes plentifully in that field,Line 2
Bene plesantly flourishing dickt with Collour gay,
Lively water fountaines eke Beasts both tame and wild;
Over shaddowed with Trees fruitefull on every spraye,
Mellodiously singing the Birds do sitt and say:
Father Son and holy Ghost one God in persons three,
Impery and honor be to thee O holy Trinity,
Lo thus when he had said I arose quickly,Line 3
Doing on my Clothes in hast with agility,
Towards the Campe (we went) of Philosophy:
The wonderfull sights ther for to see;
To a large greate Gate father Tyme brought me,
Which closed was then he to me said,
Each thing hath his Tyme, be thou then nothing dismaid.