Oh cleerest day-starre, honored of mine eyes,
    Yet sdaynst mine eyes should gaze vpon thy light,
    Bright morning sunne, who with thy sweet arise,
    Expell’st the clouds of my harts lowring night, 10
    Goddes reiecting sweetest sacrifice,
    Of mine eyes teares ay offered to thine eyes.

    May purest heauens scorne my soules pure desires? 
    Or holy shrines hate Pilgrims orizons? 
    May sacred temples gaynsay sacred prayers? 
    Or Saints refuse the poores deuotions? 
    Then Orphane thoughts with sorrow be you waind,
    When loues Religion shalbe thus prophayn’d.

    Yet needes the earth must droope with visage sad,
    When siluer dewes been turn’d to bitter stormes, 20
    The Cheerful Welkin, once in sables clad,
    Her frownes foretell poore humaine creatures harmes. 
    And yet for all to make amends for this,
    The clouds sheed teares, and weepen at my misse.

From Eclogue iij

O thou fayre siluer Thames:  O cleerest chrystall flood,
Beta alone the Phenix is, of all thy watery brood,
The Queene of Virgins 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.

With daintie and delightsome straines of sweetest virelayes: 
Come louely shepheards sit we down and chant our Betas prayse: 
And let vs sing so rare a verse,
Our Betas prayses to rehearse, 10
That little Birds shall silent be, to heare poore shepheards sing,
And riuers backward bend their course, and 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 agood,
Recording to the siluer flood,
And craue the tunefull Nightingale to helpe you with her lay,
The Osel and the Throstlecocke, chiefe musicke 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 hands. 20
How meryly the Muses sing,
That all the flowry Medowes ring,
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,
O 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 haughty Caesar weares,
But such a glittering starry Crowne as Ariadne beares. 30

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,
With Roses damask, white, and red, and fairest flower delice,
With Cowslips of Jerusalem, and cloues of Paradice.