E urope, the earth's sweet Paradise,
L et all thy kings that would be wise,
I n politique deuotion;
S ayle hither to obserue her eyes,
A nd marke her heaunly motion.
B raue Princes of this ciuill age,
E nter into this pilgrimage;
T his saint's tongue is an oracle,
H er eye hath made a Prince a page,
A nd works each day a miracle.
R aise but your lookes to her, and see
E uen the true beames of maiestie,
G reat Princes, marke her duly;
I f all the world you doe suruey,
N o forehead spreades so bright a ray,
A nd notes a Prince so truly.
HYMNE IX.
To Flora.
E mpresse of flowers, tell where away
L ies your sweet Court this merry[171] May,
I n Greenewich Garden allies?[172]
S ince there the heauenly powers do play
A nd haunt no other vallies.
B eautie, vertue, maiestie,
E loquent Muses, three times three,
T he new fresh Houres and Graces,
H aue pleasure in this place to be,
A boue all other places.
R oses and lillies did them draw,
E re they diuine Astræa saw;
G ay flowers they sought for pleasure:
I nstead of gathering crownes of flowers,
N ow gather they Astræa's dowers,
A nd beare to heauen that treasure,