Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.

¶Rowlands Song in praise of the fairest Beta.

O Thou siluer Thames, ô clearest christall flood, Beta alone the Phaenix is of all thy watry brood. The Queene of Virgins onely she, And thou the Queene of flouds shalt be. Let all the Nimphs be ioyfull then, to see this happy day, Thy Beta now alone shall be the subiect of my Lay.

With daintie and delightsome straines of sweetest Virelayes, Come louely Shepheards sit we downe, and chaunt our Betas praise. And let vs sing so rare a verse, Our Betas praises to rehearse, That litle 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 ranke: And place them duly one by one vpon thy stately banke. Then set together all a-good, Recording to the siluer flood: And craue the tunefull Nightingale to helpe ye with her Lay; The Osell and the Thrustlecocke, chiefe musicke of our May.

O see what troupes of Nimphs beene sporting on the strands; And they beene blessed Nimphs of peace, with Oliues in their hands. How merrily the Muses sing, That all the flowrie Meddowes ring And Beta sits vpon the banke in purple▪ and in pall. And shee the Queene of Muses is, and weares the Coronall.

Trim vp her golden tresses with Apollos sacred tree, O happy sight vnto all those that loue and honour thee,

The blessed Angels haue prepar'd A glorious Crowne for thy reward. Not such a golden Crowne as haughty Caesar weares: But such a glittering starrie Crowne as Ariadne beares.

Make her a goodly Chaplet of azurd Cullumbine, And wreath about her Coronet with sweetest Eglantine. Bedeck our Beta all with Lillies. And the dainty Daffadillies, With Roses Damaske, white and red, and fairest flowre-Delice: With Cowslips of Ierusalem, and Cloaues of Paradice.

O thou faire Torch of heauen, the dayes most dearest light, And thou bright-shining Cynthia, the glory of the night. You starres the eyes of heauen, And thou the gliding leuen, And thou O gorgeous Iris, with all strange colours dyed: When she streames forth her rayes, then dasht is all your pride.

See how the Day stands still, admiring of her face, And Time loe stretcheth forth his armes thy Beta to embrace. The Syrens sing sweet Layes, The Trytons sound her praise, 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, With whose sweet shadow all thy bankes with peace preserued be. Laurell for Poets and Conquerours: And Mirtle for Loues Paramours. That fame may be thy fruit, the boughs preseru'd by peace, And let the mournfull Cypres die, now stormes and tempest cease

Weele strew the shoare with pearle, where Beta walkes alone, And we will 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 Titans light: No meruaile then, although they so doe dazell humane sight.

Sound out your Trumpets then from Londons stately Towers, To beat the stormie winds a-backe, and calme the raging showers. Set to the Cornet and the Flute, The Orpharion 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 smoake with yeerely sacrifice, And long thy sacred Temples may their Sabbaths solemnise, Thy Shepheards watch by day and night, Thy Maides attend the holy light, And thy large Empire stretch her armes from East vnto the West: And Albion on the Appenines aduance her conquering crest.

FINIS.

Mich. Drayton.