The wealthy Spring yet neuer bore
      That sweet, nor dainty flower
    That damask’d not, the chequer’d flore
      Of CYNTHIAS Summer Bower.

    The Birch, the Mirtle, and the Bay,
      Like Friends did all embrace; 110
    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
      A Goddesse at the least. 120

    The Flyes by chance mesht in her hayre,
      By the bright Radience throwne
    From her cleare eyes, rich Iewels weare,
      They so like Diamonds shone.

    The meanest weede the soyle there bare,
      Her breath did so refine,
    That it with Woodbynd durst compare,
      And beard the Eglantine.

    The dewe which on the tender grasse,
      The Euening had distill’d, 130
    To pure Rose-water turned was,
      The shades with sweets that fill’d.

    The windes were husht, no leafe so small
      At all was scene to stirre: 
    Whilst tuning to the waters fall,
      The small Birds sang to her.

    Where she too quickly me espies,
      When I might plainely see,
    A thousand Cupids from her eyes
      Shoote all at once at me. 140

    Into these secret shades (quoth she)
      How dar’st thou be so bold
    To enter, consecrate to me,
      Or touch this hallowed mold.

    Those words (quoth she) I can pronounce,
      Which to that shape can bring
    Thee, which the Hunter had who once
      Sawe Dian in the Spring.

    Bright Nimph againe I thus replie,
      This cannot me affright:  150
    I had rather in thy presence die,
      Then liue out of thy sight.

    I first vpon the Mountaines hie,
      Built Altars to thy name;
    And grau’d it on the Rocks thereby,
      To propogate thy fame.

    I taught the Shepheards on the Downes,
      Of thee to frame their Layes: 
    T’was I that fill’d the neighbouring Townes,
      With Ditties of thy praise. 160

    Thy colours I deuis’d with care,
      Which were vnknowne before: 
    Which since that, in their braded hayre
      The Nimphes and Siluans wore.

    Transforme me to what shape you can,
      I passe not what it be: 
    Yea what most hatefull is to man,
      So I may follow thee.

    Which when she heard full pearly floods,
      I in her eyes might view:  170
    (Quoth she) most welcome to these Woods,
      Too meane for one so true.