Nor wicked beasts their tender buds did crop.
But like a girlond compassed the height,
And from their fruitful sides sweet gum did drop,
That all the ground, with precious dew bedight,
Threw forth most dainty odours and most sweet delight.
And in the thickest covert of that shade
There was a pleasant arbour, not by art,
But of the trees’ own inclination, made,
Which knitting their rank branches, part to part,
With wanton ivy-twine entrailed athwart,