Now are they come nigh to the Bowre of blis
Of her fond fauorites so nam’d amis:
When thus the Palmer; Now Sir, well auise;
For here the end of all our trauell is:
Here wonnes Acrasia, whom we must surprise,
Else she will slip away, and all our drift despise.
Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound, lxx
Of all that mote delight a daintie eare,
Such as attonce might not on liuing ground,
Saue in this Paradise, be heard elswhere: