Cleere had the day bin from the dawne,
    All chequerd was the Skye,
    Thin Clouds like Scarfs of Cobweb Lawne
    Vayld Heauen’s most glorious eye. 
    The Winde had no more strength then this,
    That leasurely it blew,
    To make one leafe the next to kisse,
    That closly by it grew. 
    The Rils that on the Pebbles playd,
    Might now be heard at will; 10
    This world they onely Musick made,
    Else euerything was still. 
    The Flowers like braue embraudred Gerles,
    Lookt as they much desired,
    To see whose head with orient Pearles,
    Most curiously was tyred;
    And to it selfe the subtle Ayre,
    Such souerainty assumes,
    That it receiu’d too large a share
    From natures rich perfumes. 20
    When the Elizian Youth were met,
    That were of most account,
    And to disport themselues were set
    Vpon an easy Mount: 
    Neare which, of stately Firre and Pine
    There grew abundant store,
    The Tree that weepeth Turpentine,
    And shady Sicamore. 
    Amongst this merry youthfull trayne
    A Forrester they had, 30
    A Fisher, and a Shepheards swayne
    A liuely Countrey Lad: 
    Betwixt which three a question grew,
    Who should the worthiest be,
    Which violently they pursue,
    Nor stickled would they be. 
    That it the Company doth please
    This ciuill strife to stay,
    Freely to heare what each of these
    For his braue selfe could say:  40
    When first this Forrester (of all)
    That Silvius had to name,
    To whom the Lot being cast doth fall,
    Doth thus begin the Game.

      Silvius. For my profession then, and for the life I lead,
    All others to excell, thus for my selfe I plead;
    I am the Prince of sports, the Forrest is my Fee,
    He’s not vpon the Earth for pleasure liues like me;
    The Morne no sooner puts her rosye Mantle on,
    But from my quyet Lodge I instantly am gone, 50
    When the melodious Birds from euery Bush and Bryer,
    Of the wilde spacious Wasts, make a continuall quire;
    The motlied Meadowes then, new vernisht with the Sunne
    Shute vp their spicy sweets vpon the winds that runne,
    In easly ambling Gales, and softly seeme to pace,
    That it the longer might their lushiousnesse imbrace: 
    I am clad in youthfull Greene, I other colour, scorne,
    My silken Bauldrick beares my Beugle, or my Horne,
    Which setting to my Lips, I winde so lowd and shrill,
    As makes the Ecchoes showte from euery neighbouring Hill:  60
    My Doghooke at my Belt, to which my Lyam’s tyde,
    My Sheafe of Arrowes by, my