  What time the groues were clad in greene, The Fields drest all in flowers, And that the sleeke-hayred Nimphs were seene, To seeke them Summer Bowers. Forth rou'd I by the sliding Rills, To finde where Cynthia sat, Whose name so often from the hills, The Ecchos wondred at. When me vpon my Quest to bring, 10That pleasure might excell, The Birds stroue which should sweetliest sing, The Flowers which sweet'st should smell. Long wand'ring in the Woods (said I) Oh whether's Cynthia gone? When soone the Eccho doth reply, To my last word, goe on. At length vpon a lofty Firre, It was my chance to finde, Where that deare name most due to her, 20Was caru'd vpon the rynde. Which whilst with wonder I beheld, The Bees their hony brought, And vp the carued letters fild, As they with gould were wrought. And neere that trees more spacious roote, Then looking on the ground, The shape of her most dainty foot, Imprinted there I found. Which stuck there like a curious seale, 30As though it should forbid Vs, wretched mortalls, to reueale, What vnder it was hid. Apeared to my vew, More fresh and louely than the rest, That in the meadowes grew: The cleere drops in the steps that stood, Of that dilicious Girle, The Nimphes amongst their dainty food, 40Drunke for dissolued pearle. The yeilding sand, where she had troad, Vntutcht yet with the winde, By the faire posture plainely show'd, Where I might Cynthia finde. When on vpon my waylesse walke, As my desires me draw, I like a madman fell to talke, With euery thing I saw: I ask'd some Lillyes why so white, 50They from their fellowes were; Who answered me, that Cynthia's sight, Had made them looke so cleare: I ask'd a nodding Violet why, It sadly hung the head, It told me Cynthia late past by, Too soone from it that fled: A bed of Roses saw I there, Bewitching with their grace: Besides so wondrous sweete they were, 60That they perfum'd the place, I of a Shrube of those enquir'd, From others of that kind, Who with such virtue them enspir'd, It answer'd (to my minde). As the base Hemblocke were we such, The poysned'st weed that growes, Till Cynthia by her god-like tuch, Transform'd vs to the Rose: 70Which candy euery greene, Renew vs like the Teeming Springs, And we thus Fresh are scene. At length I on a Fountaine light, Whose brim with Pincks was platted; The Banck with Daffadillies dight, With grasse like Sleaue was matted, When I demanded of that Well, What power frequented there; Desiring, it would please to tell 80What name it vsde to beare. It tolde me it was Cynthias owne, Within whose cheerefull brimmes, That curious Nimph had oft beene knowne To bath her snowy Limmes. Since when that Water had the power, Lost Mayden-heads to restore, And make one Twenty in an howre, Of Esons age before. And told me that the bottome cleere, 90Now layd with many a fett Of seed-pearle, ere shee bath'd her there: Was knowne as blacke as Jet, As when she from the water came, Where first she touch'd the molde, In balls the people made the same For Pomander, and solde. When chance me to an Arbour led, Whereas I might behold: Two blest Elizeums in one sted, 100The lesse the great enfold. The place which she had chosen out, Her selfe in to repose; Had they com'n downe, the gods no doubt The very same had chose. That sweet, nor dainty flower That damask'd not, the chequer'd flore Of Cynthias Summer Bower. The Birch, the Mirtle, and the Bay, 110Like Friends did all embrace; And their large branches did display, To Canapy the place. Where she like Venvs doth appeare, Vpon a Rosie bed; As Lillyes the soft pillowes weare, Whereon she layd her head. Heau'n on her shape such cost bestow'd, And with such bounties blest: No lim of hers but might haue made 120A Goddesse at the least. |
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