Applauses apt and singuler.
Deathles were he coulde there repose,
Each path his spycie odor stroes:
Of mirh and synamon there groes,
And of our blessed Ladyes rose.
Each tree hath there his severall blisse,
In fruites that never season misse:
Men may conceave how sweete Love is,
By that celestiall court of his.
The dauncing companies they see