XLVIII
And she herselfe of beautie soveraigne Queene,
Fayre Venus[°] seemde unto his bed to bring
Her, whom he waking evermore did weene,
To bee the chastest flowre, that ay did spring
On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king,
Now a loose Leman to vile service bound:
And eke the Graces[°] seemed all to sing,
Hymen Iö Hymen[°] dauncing all around,
Whilst freshest Flora[°] her with Yvie girlond crownd.