The flower of virgins; may she flourish long
In princely plight!
For she is Syrinx' daughter without spot,
Which Pan, the shepheards' god, of her begot:
So sprung her grace
Of heavenly race,
No mortal blemish may her blot.
"See, where she sits upon the grassy green,
(O seemly sight!)
Yclad in scarlet, like a maiden queen,