For the rich mettall was so colouréd,
That wight, who did not well-advised it vew,
Would surely deeme it to be yvie treu.
Lowe his lascivious arms adown did creepe,
That themselves dipping in the silver dew,
Their fleecy flowres they tenderly did steepe,
Which drops of Cristall seemd for wantonnes to weepe.
Infinit streames continually did well
Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see,
The which into an ample laver fell,