It was a chosen plot of fertile land, xii
Emongst wide waues set, like a litle nest,
As if it had by Natures cunning hand[620]
Bene choisely picked out from all the rest,
And laid forth for ensample of the best:
No daintie flowre or herbe, that growes on ground,
No arboret with painted blossomes drest,
And smelling sweet, but there it might be found
To bud out faire, and her sweet smels throw[621] all around.
No tree, whose braunches did not brauely spring; xiii