R udenesse it selfe she doth refine,
E uen like an Alchymist diuine;
G rosse times of yron turning
I nto the purest forme of gold;
N ot to corrupt, till heauen waxe old,
A nd be refined with burning.
HYMNE II.
To Astræa.
E ternall Virgin, Goddesse true,
L et me presume to sing to you.
I oue, euen great Ioue hath leasure
S ometimes to heare the vulgar crue,
A nd heares them oft with pleasure.
B lessèd Astræa, I in part
E nioy the blessings you impart;
T he Peace, the milke and hony,
H umanitie, and civil Art,
A richer dower then money.
R ight glad am I that now I liue,
E uen in these dayes whereto you giue
G reat happinesse and glory;
I f after you I should be borne,
N o doubt I should my birth-day scorne,
A dmiring your sweet storie.
HYMNE III.
To the Spring.