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,
      They from their fellowes were; 50
    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,
      That they perfum’d the place, 60

    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: 

    Since when those Frosts that winter brings
      Which candy euery greene, 70
    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
      What name it vsde to beare. 80

    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,
      Now layd with many a fett 90
    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,
      The lesse the great enfold. 100

    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.